Flesh of the Forbidden Fruit
by OsirisBlue
Summary: Four WWF Wrestlers volunteer as counselors at a New Jersey campground, one of them has an affair with one of the campers. Set in 1991. Leave feedback.
1. Chapter 1

Flesh of the Forbidden Fruit

 _June, 1991_

The sound of his own grunting snore woke Mark up with a start. He had been slumped over on a large sofa, the fetid stench of alcohol, sweat, and vomit filling his nose.

Head swimming, Mark risked making his head ache more by raising it and looking around the suite; Here and there, were bra and panties, other discarded clothing and liquor bottles that carpeted the floor. On the large table in front of Mark, there was a bag of marijuana, an eightball of cocaine, and a half drunk bottle of Jack Daniels. The curtains weren't drawn (to which Mark was thankful for; The sun would do his throbbing head no favors)

Mark went to get up, but had difficulty doing so. He looked down and saw why. A woman, topless, lay facedown on his torso. He lifted her gently and put her aside. He saw that he was in the buff. The price he paid when he hung out with Shawn some nights. He groaned as he scrambled to his feet and staggered to the bathroom.

Besides condom wrappers and champagne bottles everywhere, the bathroom was empty. Mark looked at himself in the mirror. His complexion was pallish, even more than usual, his long ginger hair was disordered and his eyes were bloodshot. There were lipstick prints all over his chest, neck and torso. Beads of sweat were rolling down his face and chest.

Mark was in the middle of relieving himself when the bathroom door burst open. Mark let out a startled cry, missing his intended target and hitting the walls, narrowly missing the guy at the door. There stood, Shawn, shirtless, with a champagne bottle clutched in his hand.

"Whoa, Deadman!" exclaimed Shawn. "Watch where you're aiming that thing!"

Shawn's gruff voice didn't match his volley ball player, pretty boy looks. He was 6'1 with a lean, athletic build, a bleached blond mullet and bright blue eyes. You'd think he was from California, instead of Texas until you heard him talk.

"Christ on a cross, Shawn," said Mark, annoyed. "The door was closed, can't you fucking knock?"

"It's too early in the morning for the verbal abuse," said Shawn, "besides, I didn't know you were in here."

"Damn, Shawn, you ain't got the sense God gave a billy goat," said Mark. "If you did, you should know when you see a closed door, it's usually occupied, so you knock. I'm sure your mama taught you better."

"And I'm sure _your_ mama taught you to aim better," Shawn retorted.

"Nah, actually, it was your mama who taught me that," said Mark, smirking, "she held it for me and everything."

"Careful, Calaway," said Shawn, warningly, "Or I'll add a boot print to go along with those lipstick prints on that pasty ass of yours."

Mark looked in the mirror again. Sure enough, there were lipstick prints all over his backside.

"You should go home to Jodi like that," said Shawn, grinning broadly. Jodi was Mark's wife of two years.

"Yeah and you should go home to Theresa, smelling like perfume that's not hers," said Mark.

Theresa was Shawn's wife, whom he could be heard having shouting matches with often. He never loved her, and only married her, because he was pressured into it and had been resentful about it every since.

"Yeah, maybe I will," said Shawn, indifferently, "maybe she'll fucking get the hint and leave."

"Listen, I'm going to take a shower," said Mark, "wake up the chick I was with and pay her, I'll spot you later."

"Not a problem," said Shawn, clapping Mark on the shoulder. "I'll get rid of my broads too, while I'm at it."

After Shawn left the bathroom, Mark tested the water. When the shower was hot enough, he stepped in.

For almost a year, Mark had been working for the World Wrestling Federation. His character was The Undertaker, a stoic undead wrestler who was unaffected by pain and spoke of death and taking souls. After seven years of being stretched and hazed by veteran wrestlers, wrestling in the bowels of wrestling promotions, missing meals and a series of plain vanilla tough guy gimmicks, he'd finally found a solid bankable gimmick he could support himself and Jodi with. He was gaining clout in wrestling at a fast rate and he was only 26.

Like any other celebrity constantly on the road, the allure of the hedonistic lifestyle was all around and it wasn't hard to fall under the spell. Anything you asked for, it was there within a blink of an eye.

After Mark showered, he dried himself off and rummaged through his duffel bag. He sprayed on some cologne and then put on a black button up shirt, blue jeans and desert boots. He then slipped on a bandana, watch and sunglasses and headed downstairs to the main lobby. He hated waiting for Shawn to get ready. It was like waiting for Jodi when they were going out.

As Mark entered the lobby, he was regretting it instantly. The slightest noise made his head feel like it was coming apart. He went to sit in one of the comfortable plush chairs in the lounge where he saw a familiar face looking at him disapprovingly.

He was a portly man with dark hair and a thin mustache. He was wearing a casual suit.

"Morning, Bill," said Mark.

"Morning," said Bill, stiffly. "Have a good night?"

"Pretty sure I did," said Mark. "I blacked out for most of it, woke up not too long ago."

"I know you did," said Bill. "I've been calling you all morning. No answer."

Bill really held punctuality in high regard. He was a borderline perfectionist, just the type of guy to keep rambunctious Mark in line when needed, even thoug this drove Mark crazy sometimes.

"I've been calling you to let you know Vince requested to see you and Shawn this morning."

"Vince?" Mark repeated, "about what?"

"No idea," said Bill, "but we are to meet him at the Waffle House on Main in 15 minutes."

"15 minutes?" Mark said, aghast, "Shit!"

"Maybe this will cure you of your hard partying," said Bill. "But knowing you, that will do nothing to deter you."

Mark chuckled

"Let me go get this fool," said Mark, "be back in a few."

Sighing, Mark took the elevator up the Shawn's suite.

As he entered the suite, he heard Shawn in the shower, singing, 'Sweet Home, Alabama,' . Shawn was a dreadful singer. Mark burst through the bathroom door, just as Shawn had done to him earlier and ripped the shower curtains open, making Shawn jump out of his skin.

"What the hell!" Shawn said. "You nearly gave me heart failure!"

"Payback, asshole," said Mark, "Anyway, dry off and get dressed, we have to meet Vince soon."

"Meet Vince?" repeated Shawn? "What for?"

"Dunno," said Mark, "just get your ass out the shower and get dressed."

He handed Mark a towel

"By the way," he added, "You ought to let Lynyrd Skynyrd sing the song."

After Shawn dressed at warp speed, they hurried back to the lobby where Bill was waiting for them with his car keys in his hands.

"C'mon, we've already wasted five minutes," he said.

Mark and Shawn got in the rental car while Bill took the wheel.

The morning sun was shining incandescently over the Atlanta skyline. Even with his sunglasses on, his head pulsated painfully. He turned on the radio to distract himself from his monster headache, which seemed to be progressing.

Bill pulled into the parking lot of the Waffle House, a rectangular shaped place with large glass windows and a yellow awning. Although they were franchised, the place had a nostalgic feel about it, which they felt the three men were hit with the minute they stepped in.

The plesant smells of home cooking hit their noses. People looked up from their plates and stared at them intently as though they couldn't believe it, but Bill, Mark and Shawn were too used to this by now. They'd finally spotted who they were looking for.

He was a man in his mid 40s with dark neatly parted hair, a cleft chin and aqualine nose. under his double breasted suit was a masculine build, courtesy of hours spent in the gym. This man was Vincent Kennedy McMahon.

Although he appeared on World Wrestling Federation programming as the color commentator, it was an open secret that was the owner of the promotion, having acquired it from his legendary father, Vince McMahon, Sr. before his passing. He was responsible for the wrestling boom of the 80s, buying out some of the old territories and churning out some of the biggest wrestling stars the world had ever seen.

"Two minutes late," said Vince, disapprovingly, though his wolfish grin ruined the effect. "Out being naughty boys again?"

Mark pretended to look ashamed of himself. Shawn, however, looked unabashed and said, "Yeah, you know how we get down."

"Yes, unfortunately, I do," said Vince, "But remember, don't let the high life distract you. It's lead to the destruction of many great performers."

Vince said this casually, but Mark heard the slight reprimand in his voice as well.

"So, what brings us here?" asked Bill.

"In due time, Mr. Moody," said Vince airily. "Right now, let us get sustenance."

It wasn't until Vince said that, did Mark realize how hungry he was. All that alcohol he had imbibed the previous night had also left him dehydrated. The first thing he did was order a large pitcher of water.

Minutes later, the four men were enjoying Belgian waffles, cheese n eggs, smothered hash browns, bacon, orange juice and coffee. They barely spoke to each other as they ate.

When the last strip of bacon was eaten, Mark slumped in his chair, fleeping a little sluggish from the surfeit of food he'd consumed, though feeling better than he did when he walked in. He looked at Shawn, who grinned lazily back at him. Bill was wiping bits of egg from his mustache. Vince checkled his gold Hublot watch, cleared his throat and said, "Alright, gentle, you're wondering why I've bought you here. Well, I have a preposition for you two." He indicated Mark and Shawn.

"Okay," said Mark, "concerning what?"

Vince leaned a little closer.

"There's a camp site in West Milford, New Jersey," said Vince, "called Camp Vacamas. The coordinators and current counselors are looking for four guys from the World Wrestling Federation to volunteer as special guest counselors for about six weeks with inner city teens. Bret and Curt have already volunteered their service. What say you guys?"

Mark didn't say anything. He was considering it. Shawn, however, said, "Are you kidding? You actually want me to look after little shitheads for six weeks?"

"Well, think about it, Shawn," said Bill. "This will be great PR work for you. And, also, you being an outdoors type, it would be a great experience for those children to be taught new skills, and you're the type of guy who can teach them."

"Well, I'm on board," said Mark, "I mean, I love kids, I wouldn't mind working with them. Besides it would be nice to be in a semi-structured enviroment."

"That's three on board," said Vince, happily. "What about you, Mr. Hickenbottom?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Shawn, slowly, fingering the bill on his San Antonio spurs cap. "I mean, all that responsibility..."

Mark rolled his eyes. If Shawn didn't really want to do it, he'd have said no outright. He was just being extra, because that was what Shawn did. Bill knew what Mark was thinking and smirked slightly.

"Oh all right," said Shawn finally.

"Excellent," said Vince. 'They'll be glad to hear. "I'll give them a ring, let them know you've accepted. Your first assignments are to recruit some teens who would love to sign up. You'll be going to City As High School in Manhattan."

"When do we have to go?" asked Mark.

"In a few hours," said Vince, pulling out an envelope from inside his jacket. These are two plane tickets to New York. The plane departs in about 45 minutes, don't be late. Any further questions?"

Mark and Shawn shook their heads.

"Great," said Vince. "See you gentlemen later on at tonight's tapings."

"Well, summer vacation starts in two weeks for the kids around America." said Mark as they left the Waffle House. "I haven't had a break for months. My bruises are starting to get bruises."

Though no selling made The Undertaker look indestructible, the disadvantage was that Mark couldn't cry out or look vulnerable in any way, even when he was in excruciating pain.

"I'll be able to spend time with Diane and the boys, while you're volunteering at that camp site," said Bill, joyfully. "After looking out for you, watching the boys should be a piece of cake."

"Yeah, Bill, you deserve a break from his big dead ass," said Shawn, laughing.

Mark scoffed

"If anyone needs a break from someone," he started. "I definitely need a break from you."

"Whatever," Shawn said. "Let's get this car back and make that flight."


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Mark and Shawn arrived at the airport with ten minutes to spare. There, they met the two other wrestlers volunteering for camp counselors.

One of them was average height, with a solid build, shoulder length brown hair and a darkly handsome face. The other was a little taller and more muscular with sleek blond hair that was tied into a ponytail.

Bret and Curt were both second generation wrestlers. Bret, who was part of the prestigious Hart family, had been an outstanding collegiate amateur wrestler before deciding to go pro, though he blended his amateur style with his in-ring style. Curt, the son of Larry 'The Axe' Hennig, lived up to his wrestling persona, Mr. Perfect. The vignettes where he performed difficult athletic feats, they were not re-takes, he was just really that good. Mark could tell that people would be talking about the two of them for years to come.

"Holy shit," said Curt, grinning, his blue eyes twinkling roguishly. "You sons of bitches volunteered to be counselors?"

"Who were you expecting?" asked Mark, his green eyes twinkling just as devilishly. " _Hogan?_ "

The four of them snorted derisively.

"You know _that_ mother fucker ain't anywhere to be found when the cameras stop rolling," said Shawn.

"Or when there's not six figures involved," muttered Bret.

The four of them laughed heartily as they greeted each other.

"How've you guys been?" asked Mark.

"Pretty good," said Curt, "everything's just _perfect_."

"How have you two party animals been?" asked Bret.

"We're living the life of Riley, Bret, my man," said Shawn, "we've been seeing more tail than a coin flipping contest for the past few days."

Finally, Vince showed up. He greeted Curt and Bret before saying, "Ready, gentlemen?"

The four men followed Vince at the gate, luggage and all. They climbed aboard the jet and were astounded by it.

It looked so much more like a luxury hotel room than the inside of a jet. The wall design was made of leather tiles as well as the floor. There were eight plush buttercream colored chairs that were designed to lie flat if you desired. In front of each chair were coffee tables made of mahogany. There was a state of the art galley that was also made of mahogany with a well stocked fridge, complete with a luxury bathroom of black marble. Vinced had pulled no stops.

"Feels like I've died and went to Airline Heaven," said Shawn as he sat down and stretched out his legs.

Mark snorted.

"What?" said Shawn, indignantly.

"You actually think you're getting into Heaven?" Mark asked.

"Don't get all high and mighty on me," said Shawn, "like you're going to Heaven, mother fucker."

"When I go to Hell," said Mark, adjusting his seat. "I hope they have a McDonald's down there, because that's where Satan will be going when I arrive. I'll be the new ruler."

He and Shawn burst out laughing.

As the jet took flight, the gentlemen spent most of their time, telling dirty jokes and making slights about each other. The best joke was Shawn saying that Mark, in his early career looked like a roided up Richie Cunningham.

"Well, Shawn, those times I spent in bed with your mom were one of my most _happy days_." Mark retorted.

The jet arrived at LaGuardia by early noon. The guys were so comfortable in their seats, they somewhat half-heartedly got up.

"There will be a limo arriving to pick you guys up," said Vince. "I arranged for that. I have to get to the arena to discuss a few things. See you in a bit, gentlemen."

The guys made their way to the terminal. There, they saw a tall blond haired guy wearing aviators and a black suit with that sign that read WWF."

"Hey, my man," said Shawn, "that's us."

"Right this way, sir," said the limo driver in an upstate New York accent.

Shawn followed the limo driver with Mark, Bret, and Curt folowing suit. Outside the terminal was a black limo. The limo driver opened the door. Shawn threw his luggage in carelessly before climbing in. The other three got inside and settled in.

Mark always enjoyed his visits to New York City. A country boy from the quiet suburbs of Houston, Texas, it just seemed so exotic to him. The fact that he was performing in New York, a city where many other greats before him performed, gave him a heightened sense of accomplishment. Like Sinatra, if he could make it there, he could make it anywhere. Rather than engage in conversation with the others, he looked out the window, drinking in the scenery.

Before Mark knew it, the limo had come to a stop. They were in front of City As School, a four story, brick layered school that had grafitti murals. Mark was the first one to step out of the limo. All those teenagers in there, learning, not knowing in just a few moments, they were about to be surprised.

After tipping the driver, the four wrestlers walked inside the school.

There were two school security guards, a young Latina woman and a burly red headed man who looked similar in age, sitting at a desk. When they saw the four men walking up to them, their eyes lit up like a chubby kid's would in a candy store.

"Oh my God," she said, with a Spanish/Bronx accent. "Good lord, I don't believe it! The four of you, here in our school."

"I've been a fan of wrestling my whole life," said the male security guard. He also had a Bronx accent, "it is an honor to have you guys here."

"Nice to meet you both," said Bret, extending his hand, "We're here to recruit some students for Camp Vacamas, where we'll be counselors for six weeks."

"Yes, of course," said the female guard, breathlessly. "The principal's expecting you guys, but before you head over there, I'd like to ask you guys a favor."

"What can we do for you, honey?" Shawn asked, smiling his Kodak moment smile. The security guard beamed.

"My husband and two children are big fans of wrestling," she said. "They'll never believe I met any of you. Is it okay if I take pictures of all of you?"

"Would be happy to oblige, ma'am," said Curt.

The woman took a small camera from out of her desk. The four guys bunched together while she adjusted the camera. They posed when the male security guard adjusted the camera, before finally holding it up.

"Alright guys," he said, "Smile."

Everyone, except Mark smiled. After the male guard took the picture, he wanted one for his friends. So the female guard took a picture for them as well.

"Thank you guys so much," the female guard said. "They won't believe it. The principal's office is just up the hall. It's the first door on the right.

"Thank you, miss," said Mark.

At that moment, the school bell rung. Students poured into the hall, headed to their lockers, chatting loquaciously with their friends. None of them seemed aware that four WWF wrestlers were in their midst, not even Mark, who was 6'9, over 300 pounds with flaming red hair. This suited them well as they made their way to the principal's office.

"Christ, these girls ain't like the ones we went to school with," said Shawn, checking out a group of giggling girls walking past. "They're developing early. If milk does a body good, they must be going through gallons of that shit. Goddamn!"

Mark shook his head.

"You can't date them, Shawn," he said. "Besides, they'll be worried about missing their afterschool cartoons."

Shawn, Bret, and Curt all laughed as they entered the principal's office.

There were just two teenagers ( a boy and girl) inside on the bench. The four men approached the secretary, a small slender woman with shoulder length blonde hair and David Ruffin like glasses. She looked up at them and smiled.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said. She had a squeaky voice, similar to Minnie Mouse's. Principal Anderson has been expecting you."

She picked up the phone on her desk and dialed Anderson's extension.

"Mr. Anderson, they're here," she said. After a couple of seconds' pause, she looked up at them once more and said, "Just go right in."

The guys muttered their thanks and walked into Principal Anderson's office where Anderson stood.

Principal Thurgood Anderson was a tall African-American man with shortly cut salt and pepper hair and a mustache. He was broad at the shoulder and wore round rim glasses. By his stance and demeaner, the men thought he served in the military. Mark, Shawn, and Bret were the sons of military veterans and their dads had that same aura about them.

"Good afternoon," said Mr. Anderson with a deep authorative voice befitting of a man of his occupation, shaking each men's hands. He had a strong, firm handshake, further rousing their suspicions. "Welcome to City As."

"Thank you," said Mark, "it's a pleasure to be here."

"Before we head off to the auditorium, I would just like to thank you guys for stepping up to volunteer," said Mr. Anderson, "we've been looking for volunteers for months."

"It's nothing," said Curt. "If we can get the kids to take interest in outdoor activities, it's worth it."

"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Anderson, smiling. "Shall we get to the auditorium?"

As the five of them were heading to the auditorium, a freshman aged girl ran up to Mr. Anderson and said, "Sir, you've got to come quick! Fight!

Anderson ran out of the office, the four wrestlers following suit. They didn't have to go very far.

There was a thick circle of teens, some cheering, and some looked on, aghast. Two girls were in the middle of the floor, fighting. The taller of the two slammed the other against the lockers, picked up a nearby textbook and smacked the other girl in the face with it. The girl dropped to the floor, though she was still conscious. She raised her hands up to shield herself from another attack, just as the girl raised the book again. Mr. Anderson and the red haired security guard from earlier, grabbed the attacking girl by the arms, causing her to drop the text book.

"You take her to the nurse's office," said Mr. Anderson to the female guard who was helping the other girl up to her feet. He turned to the four men and said, "I'll send my vice principal to get you guys, I need to handle this. You come with me, young lady," he added sternly to the girl, who did not struggle, but wore a murderous look on her face. The girl she attacked, had blood pouring from her nose like a leaky faucet, and the left side of her face was starting to swell rapidly.

"I don't know what, I did," she said thickly. "She's such a psychopath."

"It's ok, sweety," said the female guard, "we'll take you the nurse, she'll get you cleaned up."

"Hell's bells," said Mark, "vicious little hell cat, ain't she?"

"I'll say," said Shawn, looking back at the attacking girl, "I don't know about little though, she's damn near my height."

One kid, who'd heard Shawn, turned around and saw all of them.

"Holy smokes," he said. "Look everyone!"

Everyone turned to where the four wrestlers were standing. Almost immediately, the students bombarded them, babbling like a bunch of babboons. Mark had been used to this by now. There was one incident where he couldn't even have a quiet lunch with his older brother he had become so recognized.

"It's them!" said a kid with a rat tail and braces. "I can't believe it! In our school!"

"Can we get your autographs?" said a sophomore aged girl with highly teased hair.

Dozens of pens and papers were being shoved under the four wrestlers' noses before they knew it.

"Hey," said a sharp voice from around the corner. "Get to class, all of you!"

The students saw the source of the voice and scattered off immediately. The four men looked for their savior.

She was a tall, austere looking woman in her mid to late 30s with olive colored skin and a thin face. Her dark brown hair was tied into a tight bun and she had on a burgundy and gold suit.

"Hello," she said to the four wrestlers in the same crisp tone. "I'm Victoria Giordano, the vice principal. Mr. Anderson had something to take care of, so he told me to take you guys to the auditorium. Right this way."

After a few turns here and there, the men were in the auditorium. And what an auditorium it was. It was quite large and spacious with a cathedral like ceiling and circle top windows. There was a black grand piano that caught Mark's attention as Ms. Giordano ushered them on the stage.

"Just stay here for a few minutes," said Ms. Giordano, "I'll make the announcement for the students to come in here."

When she left, Mark eyed the piano hungrily. Curt noticed this and said, 'What's on your mind, Mark?"

"I haven't played the piano since I started wrestling," said Mark. "I wonder if I still got it."

" _You_ play the piano?" asked Shawn in disbelief. "Big beer guzzling hillbilly like you?"

"Kiss my ass, Shawn," said Mark, "my mother made me and my brothers practice on our piano an hour every day. She thought it was essential that we learned to play at least one instrument to be well rounded."

"Go on and play something then, Mark," said Bret.

Mark walked off the stage and sat at the piano. He paused for a few seconds and tested the keys before beginning to play _Nocturne Op 2_ by Chopin.

Bret, Curt, and Shawn listened, enthralled by Mark's playing. Mark smirked slightly as he continued to play. His playing was so precise that it was almost as if he had channeled some of Chopin's spirit.

When Mark was done, Bret, Curt, and Shawn clapped. He tried to look humble, but failed miserable.

"Got to admit, big man," said Shawn, "great playing."

"Thanks," said Mark, "should've bet your ass. Could have gotten me a quick hundred bucks."

Before Shawn could retort, the students were coming into the auditorium. They were freshman and sophomore aged students. They filled in and sat down, staring at the four wrestlers up on stage intently.

Mr. Anderson and Ms. Giordano got up on stage a few minutes later. When Mr. Anderson tapped the mic, the bustle died down instantaneously.

"Good afternoon, boys and girls," said Mr. Anderson. "Thank you for joining us. As you can see, we have four special guests joining us at City As School today. Coming from the World Wrestling Federation, I would like for you to welcome, Bret Hart, Mr. Perfect, Shawn Michaels, and The Undertaker."

The kids cheering was so deafening, the auditorium seemed to vibrate. When the noise subsided, Bret approached the podium.

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson and Ms. Giordano, it's an honor for us to be here today," said Bret, "and it's an honor to see the youth of today diligent in their studies, working on becoming productive members of society.

"The reason we have come to City As School personally is because in two weeks, summer vacation, we will be special guest counselors for six weeks at Camp Vacamas in West Milford, New Jersey. We're accepting twenty students from the ages of fourteen to seventeen. You will need a permission form from your parents and medical records with updated shots. We look forward to seeing you in two weeks."

Ms. Giordano approached the podium.

"If any student is interested in signing up for summer camp, come see Mr. Anderson or after school this evening. We have brochures as well as permission forms. Does anyone have questions?"

Nearly all of them raised their hand, leaving Mr. Anderson and Ms. Giordano bemused.

"They want autographs," said Curt to them in an undertone.

"That'll take a little while, won't it?" asked Ms. Giordano.

"Yeah, it will, " said Shawn, "but quite honestly, it would be a big disappointment for these kids to see us and not get autographs from us. We have some time to kill."

"Very well then," said Mr. Anderson before turning to the podium and saying, "Settle down, everyone. If you want an autograph, stay put while we get these gentlemen seats and a table. Then one by one, you'll line up to the stage and get autographs."

"Would you guys like anything else while you're here," asked Ms. Giordano.

"Yes," said Mark, "Four cups of the strongest coffee you could give us would be nice."


	3. Chapter 3

On a Balmy Friday afternoon, Mark and the other wrestlers arrived in West Milford.

West Milford was a small sleepy town in New Jersey's Passaic County. It was forty-five minutes away from New York City.

"Man, we're on Macopin Road," said Shawn, his eyes squinting for the 'Welcome to Camp Vacamas' sign. "Where the fuck is this place?"

"Shawn, you have a map," said Mark, who was sitting in the front passenger's seat. "Use the thing."

"I forgot it when we were packing," mumbled Shawn, his face reddening slightly.

Mark made an impatient noise.

"You'd forget your dick if it wasn't attatched to y ou," he said. "Just look for a car lot. Vacamas is across from it."

"Wait," said Bret, "we passed a car lot two miles ago."

"We did?" asked Mark, "damn."

"Hold on tight, fellas," said Shawn. He made a U-Turn so sharp that the others cried out, not expecting the move.

It was no wonder they didn't see Vacamas's entrance. IT was an entrance surrounded by a thicket of trees. The entrance was a dirt trail so narrow, that one who was speeding past (which Shawn had done) wouldn't notice the 'Welcome to Vacamas' sign.

Shawn parked the car in front of the staff's station where four staff members (two women, two men) were waiting outside, dressed in the same getup; Green t-shirts with Camp Vacamas in white lettering and cream colored khaki shorts.

"Sorry we're late," said Curt, who'd reached them first, "We got a little lost because _someone_ didn't pack their map."

He stared pointedly at Shawn before turning back to the four counselors.

"Do you know when the children will be arriving?" he asked.

"They'll be arriving at three," said the counselor furthest right, a young woman with shoulder length cherry pop colored hair and cornflower blue eyes. "We have time to kill. So before we show you guys to your cabin, let us introduce ourselves. My name is Kaitlyn, this is Donna-" she pointed at the other girl, leggy and tawny haired, who waved merrily- "This right here, is Lenny-" a young, muscular, long-haired man also waved-"And Derek, a sinewy, russet skinned man nodded, smiling.

"Nice to meet you all," said Bret as everyone exchanged handshakes. "We look forward to working with you all."

"Likewise," said Kaitlyn, beaming. "Derek is going to show you guys to your cabin. Settle in and meet us back here, we can go over the activity schedule and hang out until the kids arrive."

The four guys followed Derek up a dirt trail with blackberry bushes, leading from the main road. Mark, the tallest of all of them, had to duck to avoid hitting low branches.

"Y'know, it's a real honor to be meeting guys I watch on T.V.," said Derek, "I've been watching wrestling since I was a kid. These kids are lucky. I used to camp here as a teen myself, I wish I had the same opportunities that these kids are getting."

"You're working with us for six weeks," said Mark, "That's definitely a big opportunity. Not many people can say they co-counseled with WWF wrestlers."

"You're right, I didn't think of it that way," said Derek, thoughtfully. "So I have to ask; What's it like working with all those guys like Hulk Hogan?"

"Thrill of a lifetime," said Shawn. "Never met a more swell guy."

Derek missed the sarcasm in Shawn's voice, because he beamed.

They reached their destination, a moderately sized log cabin.

"Here you are guys," said Derek, "I'll leave you guys to change and get settled in. See you later."

"Thanks, Derek," said Curt, as Derek left.

Bret opened the screen mesh door and the four men walked in.

The whole place had the air of not being frequently occupied, but cleaned on a regular basis. There were six beds, three on each side with dressers by each bed. The only other room was a bathroom, which had five shower stalls, which suited them just fine; Shawn had been making a fuss about showering.

The four men changed into attire more appropiate for the warm campy weather. Mark, Bret, and Curt laughed at Shawn's get up; poly mesh tank top and biker shorts.

"Don't get on my fucking case," said Shawn indignantly, "Bret, you look like a bottle of Pepto Bismol, Curt you look like a goddamn yuppie with that striped tank top, and Mark, it looks like someone drank different cans of paint and then vomited on your shorts."

"Maybe so," said Mark, "But I'd rather wear these Jam shorts than those nut chokers you got on."

Bret and Curt laughed as Shawn flipped Mark off.

After they were settled in, the four headed out to the station where Kaitlyn was waiting.

"How'd you guys find the place?" she asked

"Not bad," said Bret.

"Great," said Kaitlyn smiling, "You guys can come inside, we'll go over the lists inside."

Derek, Donna, and Lenny were all sitting in recliners in the lounge, shooting the breeze, Kaitlyn walked past them and lead them to a small office. Or maybe it seemed small to Mark and the guys, because they were so large.

"Here are a list of activities for the kids to do," said Kaitlyn, taking a paper off of the bulletin board, "as you can see, it ranges from rock climbing to arts and crafts. You can figure out what you want to do with them this evening."

The four wrestlers looked at the list.

"These all look interesting," said Bret. "We won't tax them on the first day though. How about we set up a scavenger hunt for them?"

"Great," said Kaitlyn, "I can write out a list of items for each of you guys and Xerox them."

"Sounds good," said Curt.

As Kaitlyn went to the Xerox machine, Mark looked further down the list.

"Arts and crafts," said Mark, 'That my field of expertise. I can do that with the kids."

The other three looked at him.

"What?" he said, "a guy can't be into arts and crafts?"

"Since when were you ever into arts?" asked Curt.

"When I was playing basketball in college, I was working on an arts degree," said Mark, "if a sports career didn't work out, I'd have something to fall back on."

"Thank God your sports career worked out," said Shawn. "Your bonus for having an Arts degree would consist of bringing home extra fries from your job."

"Better than helping a blue haired biddy to her stationwagon, saying, 'paper or plastic' like you would," Mark retorted.

The four wrestlers spent the rest of the afternoon with the counselors, playing Go Fish and dining on New Jersey's best Italian submarines. Everyone got to know a bit about each other. They found out Kaitlyn was a fourth grade teacher in Newark. Lenny was a volunteer firefighter, who was a junior at Seton Hall University, majoring in Physical Therapy. Donna was a dietician in Livingston, and Derek was a computer engineer for a software company in Jersey City.

By three o'clock, the eight of them waited for the bus full of teens to arrive. It wasn't a long wait.

A lime green bus pulled into the parking lot. Little by little, the teens with their belongings poured out of the bus, a bunch of wonder and excitement on their juvenescent faces already.

They were ogling the four wrestlers to no one's surprise.

"Hello, guys," said Kaitlyn, sweetly. Mark could tell she really loved her job of working with youth, "If you'll follow me."

Kaitlyn led them to a large spacious mess hall perched on top of a grassy hill. As they entered there was a man in the kitchen, cleaning the pots. He gave a curt nod and resumed, washing out a particularly dirty pot.

"Everyone grab a chair and make a circle," said Kaitlyn.

There was scraping of chairs and a bit of chatter as everyone took chairs and created a large circle in the middle of the mess hall.

Mark and the other guys finally seperated for the first time and sat with the teens. A few girls were sitting with Shawn, giggling and batting their eyes at him. There was a gawky blond boy sitting on the left of Mark who looked like he wanted to say something to him, but was afraid to. Mark was used to this. Many fans seemed to think he was unapproachable because of his imposing size and stony stares. They would see he was nothing like that soon enough.

After watching Bret and Curt chat animatedly with some campers, Mark took a glance at a black girl on his right. She seemed vaguely familiar. She was at least 5'8 or 5'9, her dark brown hair coming out in long wild curls. Her fawn colored skin hadn't been riddled with zits like most girls her age, which Mark guessed it to be 16. She wasn't smiling like the other teens. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. Then it suddenly struck Mark who she was. She was the girl he'd seen attacking the other girl at City As during their presentation.

When the chatter died down, Kaitlyn cleared her throat and said, "Welcome to Camp Vacamas, everyone, we hope you enjoy your visit here. You'll be staying here for six weeks and during that duration, you guys will learn the meaning of teamwork and friendship as well as wildnerness skills. Your bunk mates will be somewhat like your family during this duration, so be mindful and respectful of others. Name calling and fighting will not be tolerated.

"Also, the cabins you will be staying in will be your home, so I ask you to please keep it clean as if it were your own home.

"Over the next six weeks, we're going to do activities ranging from fishing to swimming. Wake up time will be at eight. We eat in the mess hall at all times. Breakfast will be served at eight-thirty, lunch at twelve, and dinner at four-thirty. Lights out will be at ten.

"Now that we've got that out of the way," said Kaitlyn, smiling, "we're going to go around and introduce ourselves. My name is Kaitlyn, and I'm the head counselor."

Everyone except the four wrestlers introduced themselves. They finally got to the girl, who spoke in a clear, but toneless voice.

"My name is Veronica, but I'm not fond of that name, so I liked to be called Ronnie."

"And last, but not least," said Kaitlyn, sounding like a Price is Right Showcase announcer, "these guys are from the World Wrestling Federation, who took time out of their busy schedules to volunteer as counselors. They be the main facilitators of the activities you'll be participating in. Why don't you introduce yourselves, guys?"

"I'm Bret Hart," said Bret.

"On T.V., I'm called Mr. Perfect," said Curt, "but in the real world, I'm Curt."

"I'm Shawn Michaels," said Shawn. The girls nearby pretended to have swooning fits.

"As you know, my character's The Undertaker," said Mark, "but you guys will know me as Mark."

"Now that we're well acquainted," said Kaitlyn, "we'll show you all to your cabins. The boys will follow Derek and Lenny, the girls will follow Donna and myself. Are there any questions?"

A chunky wiry haired kid named Terry raised his hand.

"Are you guys going to teach us wrestling moves?" he asked.

Everyone laughed.

"Yeah, sure," said Mark, "just give us twenty-five hundred dollars, we'll train you right up."

As they got up, Shawn walked over to Mark and said, "Get a load of that Ronnie girl, eh? Better hope she doesn't go all Carrie on everyone."

"Stop it, Shawn," said Mark, looking over at the girl. She was easily the tallest girl. She was taller than most of the boys for that matter. "She probably was just having a bad day that day, that's all."

"I hate to see her on a good day," said Shawn. "She probably could take you down, Mark."

"Shawn," started Mark, "I used to be a bouncer in the toughest bar in Houston, Texas. And a debt collector for loan sharks. Not to mention, I'm 6'8 and over 300 pounds. She wouldn't be able to take me down.

"Yeah, true," said Shawn, "but she can do to you what you can't do to her."

"Oh yeah?" said Mark, "What's that?"

"Hit you in the balls," said Shawn. "No matter how big, strong, or tough you are, once you hit those bad boys, down you go."

Mark couldn't help but laugh with Shawn as they headed back outside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this chapter took a while. But I'm looking to better this story. Provide critique if needed. Thanks**

After settling in their cabins, the campers returned twenty minutes later. They had changed into clothing better suited for camping, with the exception of Ronnie, who was still in her patchy jean jacket, ripped jeans and Chuck Taylors.

"Our first official activity will be a scavenger hunt," said Kaitlyn. "Can anyone tell me what a scavenger hunt is?"

"It's a game where you have to find things on a list," said a boy named Juan.

"Very good, Juan," said Kaitlyn, "and we have a list of items you are to find and as you'll see on the list, that some items are worth a certain amout of points. We're going to split up into four teams and search for the items. Whoeever has the most points in the end will be the winner. The teams will be Curt with Donna, Shawn with Lenny, Mark with Derek, and Bret with myself. Five people to each team. Any questions?"

There was silence.

"Great," said Kaitlyn. "You can all choose your teams now."

There was a scramble for a couple of second. Not surprisingly, most of the girls wanted to team with Shawn and Lenny. Four boys, Lamar, Vincent, Joey, and Juan and one girl, Ronnie, teamed up with Mark and Derek. The two remaining girls, Ellie and Lisa looked sulky as t hey chose Curt. They had wanted Shawn.

After the teams were formed, Kaitlyn said. "We'll give it one hour to search for listed items. Everyone synchronize their watches and we'll meet you all back here in one hour. Good luck, everyone.

Everyone went their separate ways. Mark and Derek headed down the hill.

"This is so cool," said Vincent, "I'm on a scavenger hunt with the Undertaker!"

Mark grinned at Vincent before turning to Derek.

"What's the first item on the list?" he asked.

"An acorn," said Derek. "It's worth ten points."

Almost as soon as Derek finished the sentence, Lamar exclaimed excitedly, "Hey, look, there's an acorn!"

"Very good, Lamar," said Mark, clapping Lamar on the shoulder, "Let's keep up the good work guys. Girls," he added, nodding at Ronnie.

A few moments later, Ronnie and Joey found a pine cone and blue rubber band, both worth thirty and a hundred points respectively. Vincent had quite an observative eye for spotting items and pointing them out to the others. Ronnie was less talkative than the boys, but still, she participated in the hunt and found some items that they had wasted time looking for; A purple wildflower and painted rock.

The sun was lowering over the crystalline lake, emitting an intense nacarat hue over the camp site. Mark and the others were ambling around, looking for the remaining three items. They only had five minutes left.

"Well, we have no chance of finding these items in this amount of time," said Derek. "But we have a decent amount of items, we did well."

Ronnie, who was walking side by side with Derek, took a look at the list.

"Wait, it says a soda bottle cap is worth one hundred points," she said "I can help us a little with points."

And from her jacket pocket, she produced a Coke bottle cap.

"Very good, Ronnie," said Mark, examining it. It'd been a while since he'd seen a real bottlecap. Everything was plastic nowadays.

"Get with the program, Ron," said Juan, scoffing. "Everyone likes Pepsi now. Who drinks Coke anymore?"

"People who likes colas that aren't a flat syrupy knockoff that has to rely on heavy celebrity endorsements to market its crappy product," Ronnie snapped. "Is that a problem, Juan?"

"I was only joking, Ronnie, relax," said Juan, the look on his face bordering indignation and unease. "You get mad too quick, jeez!"

"Well, you should watch your mouth," said Ronnie, her eyes flashing ominously. "Before someone punches you in it!"

"That's enough," said Derek sternly, stepping in front of Ronnie, incase she pounced. "No threatening others. Calm yourself, Ronnie."

Ronnie closed her eyes and took too deep breaths, closed her eyes and said, "Right, sorry Juan, shouldn't have lost my temper and threatened you."

"It's ok," said Juan, bemused at Ronnie's evanescent moment of rage.

Mark and the rest of them made it back to the mess hall. They were the first ones back. While they waited, the boys chatted about who the best baseball team was. Vincent and Juan insisted the Mets were the best baseball team while Lamar and Joey insisted the Yankees were the best baseball team ever. Derek turned out to be an avid baseball fan and joined in on the conversation, while Mark, who didn't follow baseball, listened to them. Ronnie sat at a nearby picnic bench, blowing the clocks off of a dandelion.

The other teams emerged shortly. Everyone was looking upbeat and anticipating who the winner of the hunt was. They would see in a few minutes."

"What's up, Bret, what happened to you?" asked Mark, oberving nicks and cuts on Bret's forearms and legs.

"Fell in some thorny bushes," said Bret, grimacing. "And they say big cuts hurt, small cuts are murder."

The chatter soon died down when Kaitlyn blew her whistle and said. "We have come to the conclusion of the scavenger hunt. Now to find out the winner."

"It took a few minutes to discern who had won. Kaitlyn and Lenny had added up the points.

"Alright, ladies and gents," said Lenny, sweeping his long hair from his face, "the team with the most points and the winner of the scavenger hunt...Kaitlyn and Bret with three hundred and ten points."

Everyone clapped as Kaitlyn and Bret's team slapped each other high fives.

Mark's team came in second with three hundred points. Shawn's team had two hundred and eighty points, and Curt had two hundred and seventy-five. But they saw that everyone else didn't care whether they won or not. The looks on the campers' faces were looks of people who totally were having the time of their lives.

"Well done, guys," said Kaitlyn, consulting her watch, "It's nearly four thirty, we'll be having dinner shortly. I'd like for everyone to take the time to wash their hands and set up the tables when they get inside.

"While the kids went into the mess hall, the counselors and wrestlers grouped together.

"What would you like to do for the next activity?" asked Kaitlyn.

"Let's give them recreation time at the gym for a couple of hours," said Curt. "Then some board games."

"Alright, that's fine," said Kaitlyn. "See you guys inside."

As the counselors disappeared, Shawn tossed a rock and said. "Working with the little shits wasn't bad. I haven't done a scavenger hunt in years and forgot how much fun they could be. I enjoyed that."

"Would be nice if you didn't call them 'shits', Shawn, " said Bret.

"I meant it in an affectionate way," said Shawn.

"Yeah, comparing someone to body waste is considered affectionate," said Mark sarcastically as they walked inside the mess hall.

There were savorous smells meandering through the mess hall and up people's noses. The campers were setting up the tables were the counselors were in the kitchen, preparing the food.

"I forgot what a nice home cooked meal smells like," said Shawn almost ruefully.

"Doesn't Theresa cook?" asked Curt.

"Curt, there are people who can cook, but don't, and there are people who can't cook, but do," said Shawn. "Either way, with Theresa, I don't expect anything fancy or edible."

The guys snickered as they helped put dinner on the tables. Chicken noodle casserole, garden salad, and pitchers of lemonade.

"This looks great," said Mark. The Italian subs had long worn off.

The tables had been filled up rather quick. Bret and Curt were at tables already. Mark was going to find a table with Shawn, but Ellie and Lisa and two other girls called for Shawn.

"We saved you a seat," said Lisa.

"I guess I've got to go over there, buddy," said Shawn, leaving Mark alone.

Mark looked around. In the corner, he found a table. Ronnie was the only occupant at her table. She did not seem to mind.

"Mind if I sit here, Ronnie?" Mark asked.

Ronnie shrugged.

"Free country," she said.

Mark sat down and piled casserole on his plate.

"You actually _want_ to sit next to me?" asked Ronnie.

"Sure," said Mark, bemused. "Why wouldn't I want to sit next to you?"

"No one _ever_ sits next to me," said Ronnie, indifferently, putting ranch dressing on her salad.

Though he already had an inkling why, Mark asked, "Why's that?"

"Because I'm not like the rest of them," said Ronnie, munching on her salad. "I don't feel the need to join cliques or follow mindless trends. In other words, I am not a phony."

"You consider people in some type of circle phonies?" asked Mark.

"Absolutely," said Ronnie, "I mean, most people join cliques and do what everyone else does, because it's the "in" thing, because they want to be "cool". They're too stupid to see that being trendy doesn't make you cool. Being yourself makes you cool."

"I would think too," said Mark, "that many young people join cliques, gangs, clubs, or whatever, because they want that sense of belonging and friendship, because they're lacking in that department."

"That's true for some people," said Ronnie. "But some people want to join them for connections. They don't even like most of the people they hang with, but do it for social status. It's all that, 'it's not what you know, it's who you know crap. I refuse to join the flock."

"You seem to hold a lot of anger and bitterness for someone as young as you are," said Mark.

Ronnie looked at Mark as if he mortally offended her. Mark half expected her to fly into another bout of rage.

"You'd be angry and bitter too, if people believe the things teachers made you out to be."

"What do they make you out to be, hon?" asked Mark.

"Well, they've branded me as an anti-social troublemaker," said Ronnie. "Because I don't swallow their lies as easily, as quickly as the other students. I ask questions in class that contradict their "official" accounts of events. I'm not a fool. I was taught to ask questions. "

"That's certainly true," said Mark, swallowing a mouthful of casserole, "you're supposed to question what you're being taught. Not only in school, but what you're being fed by T.V. If you don't learn to question everything now, then how will you really learn anything?"

"They don't see it that way," said Ronnie. "They tell me to stop causing trouble, or they send me to the principal's office or detention."

"That ain't right," said Mark, taking a generous sip of lemonade, "The educational system is a joke. Most teachers are too lazy and unequipped to deal with sharp, critical thinkers. I guess they throw you out, because they can't answer your questions accurately."

"I wish they would stop their lies about me though," said Ronnie. "When it comes to Veronica Peyroux, they all say, "Doesn't get along with others, argumentative, aggressive, and all of those lovely things."

"Peyroux" stirred something in Mark's memory. That wasn't a very common surname.

"Peyroux?" he repeated. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Claudine Peyroux by any chance, would you?"

Ronnie looked at Mark, fork in midair, looking surprise and impressed.

"You know her?" she asked.

"Sure do," said Mark, chuckling at the look on her face. "The Bayou Nightingale. One of the greatest jazz blues singers of her era. Her 'Wetland Blues' and 'Sugar Cane King' standards were one of the most influential standards in the jazz blues scene. "

"She's my mother," said Ronnie. "I wasn't aware that many people knew about her."

"Are you kidding?" said Mark, "I've been a fan every since I saw her perform in the 70s. Met her when I was a youngling. So gracious and humble was she."

Ronnie for a fleeting moment looked intrigued about Mark's knowledge of her famous mother. But then it was gone and gloom replaced it.

"Gracious and humble, yes," she said. "In front of her audience. Behind the scenes and at home, it was something else."

She had said the latter in an undertone, so Mark pretended not to hear her and asked, "What's your mom up to nowadays?"

"Touring at the moment," said Ronnie. "There's no telling when she'll be back home."

Ronnie said no more about this and resumed eating. Mark didn't press on the matter and took the opportunity to help himself to more casserole.

After dinner was over, everyone cleared off their tables and left the cook, Tony, to clean the dishes. Mark headed to the bathroom, where Shawn caught up with him.

"I saw you talking to Psycho Chick," said Shawn while they were at the urinal. "Did she tell you about her diary entry about how she strangled a poor innocent animal and who she's going to bump off in school?"

Shawn laughed at his own morbid joke.

"It'd be nice if you stop making psycho jokes about her, Shawn," said Mark. "We're here to reach out to these children, help them learn social skills and build up their confidence. And she's not that bad. She didn't say much, but I find her interesting. I found out her mother's Claudine Peyroux."

"Never heard of her," said Shawn, shaking a little extra off, before flushing the urinal.

"Wouldn't expect you too," said Mark. "You don't recognize any female talent unless she's not wearing any clothes."

"Oh give me more credit than that, Mark," said Shawn, feigning indignance. "I happen to recognize female talent. Especially when they do tricks with their tongue, if you know what I mean."

Mark laughed.

"You ain't right." he said, going to wash his hands.

"So," said Shawn, drying his hands. "Ready to head to the gym, so I can destroy you at basketball?"

Mark let out a derisive laugh. Athletically gifted though Shawn was, he could not even match Mark (a former basketball player) skill for skill.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

The first night at Camp Vacamas ended in high spirits. After witnessing a basketball game in which the team of Mark, Derek, and Bret defeated Shawn, Curt, and Lenny spectacularly, the camps played board games with the counselors and wrestlelrs. While Mark played Hungry Hippos with Curt, Terry and the boy who had been afraid to speak to him named Micah, he couldn't help but notice that Ronnie was once again by her lonesome, solving a Rubik's Cube.

They roundned off the night with cookies Tony baked himself and milk. On the way back to their respective cabins, the campers speculated what they were going to do the next day.

It was half past midnight. There was a full moon, showering the entire camp, casting an argent glow over the woodlands. While Bret, Curt, and Shawn slept, Mark sat on the top of the steps, smoking a marijuana joint that he'd smuggled along with him. Apart from the owls hooting in the distance and the sound of leaves rustling in the slight breeze, it was relatively quiet. Mark found solace in these rare moments of solitude. How ironic was it, that a couple of years ago, he wanted fame and recognition. Now that he had that, he found that he wanted to be alone more. It seemed he had taken a lot of mundane comforts for granted. Including time with his wife.

He remembered the small argument they had when Mark came home and informed her that he would be away for six weeks. To nobody's surprise, she didn't take the news well.

" _Six weeks?!_ " Jodi squawked. "Mark, I barely spend time with you anymore as it is and now you're going away for six weeks?"

"Jo, honey," Mark drawled. "You knew what it was going to be like when you decided you wanted to marry me. This is something that will occur often."

Jodi wasn't going to give up without a fight. Her kind pretty face was set, making her look fierce, but beautifully so.

"I knew what I signed up for when we exchanged vows," she said. "But I can't pretend that I'm happy about the arrangements. You're barely home Mark! And when you are home, you're either too tired, or too hurt or you're doing something for the company or charity. When are you going to do something for me? We haven't been out together since our honeymoon. It seems you put more into your work than you do into our marriage."

Mark looked into the midnight blue eyes that he'd fell in love with in college. They were filled with tears that had not been shed yet.

I'm sorry, Jodi Bug," he said. "I know it seems like I haven't been paying much attention to you in a while. I'll make it up to you when I get back."

Jodi snorted and said. "I'd believe you if you didn't say that just to appease me."

"I realize they've been empty words," said Mark, stroking her thick auburn hair lovingly. "I promise this time. We'll do whatever you want when I get back. Two days, I'm all yours."

"You'd better not lie to me, Mark William Calaway," said Jodi. Like his mother, Jodi addressed him by his full name when she meant business, "No distractions when I have you for those two days."

"You got it, Jodi Bug," said Mark kissing her, hoping she didn't notice his lack of passion he used to put in his kisses.

Mark continued to gaze up at the sky long after he'd finished smoking the joint. He grinned stupidly as the stars and full moon seemed to glow vividly. He recited a short poem in his head.

 _Starry night in the woods,_

 _the moonlight as intense_

 _as the gaze of a curious child_

 _the sounds of the wilderness_

 _compliments my musings aloud_

 _Placidness attracts me like_

 _honey attracts bees_

 _my soul is often hungry_

 _for nights like these_

"Go to bed, Mark," he said out loud. "You're baked."

The next morning, after a delectable breakfast of blueberry pancakes and sausages, the campers and counselors headed to a trail, leading to a large cabin, in which the logs were painted different colors. Kaitlyn took a key from her pocket and opened the door. Inside were benches and table with numerous art supplies. There were drawings and paintings on the walls unsurprisingly, ranging from abstract to surrealism, created by previous campers. The campers looked at the paintings expressions ranging from curiosity to impressed. Ronnie was working extra hard to conceal her excitement.

"Nervous?" whispered Bret to Mark as everyone settled in the benches.

"Shit," Mark scoffed. "I perform in front of thousands everynight, this is duck soup."

He waited until Donna and Kaitlyn took their places to clear his throat.

"Good morning everyone," he said. "Incase you haven't figured it out by now, this morning's activity is art. Before we continue, who can tell me what art is?"

Micah raised his hand.

"Yes, Micah?" said Mark.

"It's where you draw or paint pictures," he said.

"Though he was sort of right, it wasn't the answer Mark was looking for. He'd wanted a more specific answer.

"That's one of them," said Mark. "Good answer, Micah, anybody else want to try?"

Terry raised his hands.

"It's something rich people spend a lot of money on to hang in their dining rooms," he said.

The whole room exploded into guffaws, including Mark. Ronnie, to Mark's surprise, raised her hand.

"Yes, Ronnie?" said Mark.

"Art is works made using skill and imagination," said Ronnie. "It doesn't necessarily pertain to drawings and pictures, it can pertain to writnig, acting, singing, or dancing."

" _What?_ " said Lamar sneering, "How are _those_ considered art?"

Mark saw that Ronnie was manage to keep her temper under control, but with great difficulty.

"Because art is also a form of expression," she said in a patient tone. "When you're painting, writing, or singing, you're expressing your thoughts, your feelings, your skills."

Everyone looked at Ronnie, clearly impressed. Even Shawn, who was always cracking a joke about Ronnie, had a look of newfound respect.

"The three of you all were correct," said Mark, "yes even you, Terry," he added, smiling as Terry grinned skeptically, "Art is an ambiguous branch of human activity. It expresses feelings like Ronnie said. They're intended to provoke contemplation and admiration.

"So right now, here's what I want for everyone to do. I'd like for you guys to tell me a bit about yourselves using animals. And you'll explain why you feel the animal respresents you the best. Gather up any material may need. Get to work, ladies and gentlemen."

Mark watched as everyone scrambled to gather some drawing utensils. Mark himself took a few colored pencils and a piece of paper before sitting next to Shawn.

"Hope you don't need directions to color in the lines, big boy," muttered Shawn under his breath.

Mark's boot found Shawn's flip flopped foot and stomped on it hard. He laughed as Shawn gasped and stifled back a swear and began sketching a Rottweiler.

It had been a while since he had sat down and done something that made him happy. He actually felt tension depart his body as he detailed the Rottweiler. The demands of his career made him realize how much he missed doing this.

After half an hour, Mark got up in front of the room again and said. "Everyone, finish up what they're doing. We're going to begin discussion about our drawings in a few moments."

Everyone put the finishing touches on their drawings before looking up at Mark.

"I guess that I'll be the first to share, being that I am the facilitator," said Mark. "The animal I drew is a Rottweiler."

He helped up his drawing. The campers and counselors looked at the Rottweiler in awe. He heard Vincent whisper to Juan, "Damn, it looks real life."

"I picked the Rottweiler for many factors. The Rottweiler, like me, can look intimidating, but you'll find that they're big softies. Rottweilers are also fiercely devoted, fearless, and self-assured, qualities I possess. Who would like to go next?"

It was a few seconds before Lisa raised her hand.

"I drew a butterfly," said Lisa, showing a picture of a decently drawn butterfly."

"Beautiful," said Mark, "and Lisa, tell us why you feel a butterfly represents your personality the best?"

"Because I have a colorful personality," said Lisa, "I'm also graceful and I can adapt to change well."

"Very nice, Lisa," said Mark. "Anybody else?"

Terry raised his hand.

"I drew a pig," he said, holding a picture of a crudely drawn pig. The cabin exploded with laughter.

"Okay, Terry," said Mark, grinning slightly, "why do you identify with a pig?"

"My mom always says I eat like one," said Terry, "and she says my room always looks like a pig sty."

Everyone roared with laughter again.

"Who's up next?" asked Mark after the laughter died down.

Juan raised his hand and showed everyone a picture of a duck.

"Excellent, a duck," said Mark. "Tell us why you chose a duck?"

"Because I love to swim and when I do swim, I'm always seen with my family," said Juan

"Great assessment, Juan," said Mark. "Who is up next to share?"

This time, Ronnie raised her hand.

"Good," said Mark, "what do you have for us, Ronnie?"

"I drew a rat," said Ronnie, showing a picture of a well detailed rat. On normal circumstances, this should have gotten a look of admiration, but instead everyone was repulsed, pre-occupied with Ronnie identifying herself with a rat.

"A _rat_?" Lamar burst out again, voicing what everyone was probably thinking. "Who would compare themselves to a filthy stinkin' rat!"

Having been goaded too many times by Lamar, Ronnie's eyes flashed dangerously and growled "I swear to God Lamar, if you say one more thing to me, I'm going to beat you so bad, your great grands will inherit the injuries!"

"Whoa!" said Mark, cutting off Lamar, who opened his mouth angrily, "Calm down there, chili pepper," he added to Ronnie. "Let's not threaten anyone. And Lamar, let Ronnie explain herself without comments from the peanut gallery."

In the corner of his eye, Mark could see Bret, Curt, and Shawn supressing laughs at what Ronnie said.

"Now Ronnie," said Mark, "please continue. Why did you choose a rat?"

Ronnie pushed her long bang out of her eye before speaking.

"Well, rats have a bad reputation because of the bubonic plague," said Ronnie. "I was their fleas transmitting the disease and not them. What I'm trying to say is that rats are grossly misunderstood. They're shy and unlikely to bite. You'll also find that they're highly intelligent and affectionate. I think most people would find those qualities in me, if they just got to know me and stop acting like they're afraid of me."

Everyone was silent for a moment, as if they were contemplating what Ronnie said. Shawn shifted guiltily in his seat.

"I never knew that myself about rats," said Mark finally, "thank you for sharing that, Ronnie. It really is true that you learn something new everyday."

After everyone finished sharing their drawing, they departed the art shack. Kaitlyn pulled Mark to the side and said, "That was a nice art lesson, Mark, great job. "

"Thanks," said Mark, "I thought it would be a good thing, let the kids get in touch with their inner self."

It was a little cloudy out, but it was still nice and balmy. Birds were chirping merrily as they drank from the bird baths.

"Oooh, look at that bird!" exclaimed a girl named Sandra, pointing at a small bird with gold and black plummage. "Is that a canary?

"No, that's a goldfinch," Donna corrected her. "They're the state bird of New Jersey. You should hear them in the spring, they have the most angelic singing voices."

Sandra continued to watch the goldfinch until they took a right, where Lenny and Derek were waiting, standing before a training course similar to the ones they used to train Army recruits.

"What're these?" asked Vincent, looking at a row of swinging tires.

"Curt, Derek, and Lenny will explain in a few seconds," said Kaitlyn.

"Gather aroundkids," said Lenny. "I know you're wondering what these are. Well, wonder no more. This here, is a challenge course."

"Challenge course?" said Joey, "what's that?"

"They're a compilation of physical tests and games," said Curt as he pulled his hair back into a ponytail. They're designed for a variety of things; Trust building, as well as a confidence boost, confronting your fears and and team work."

"And also," said Derek, "Well be testing your stamina, strength, balance and agility. Does anyone have any questions?"

Terry raised his hands.

"What if we're seriously injured during this course?" he asked.

"That's why we counselors are here," said Lenny, "to ensure your safety."

Though Terry didn't look thoroughly convinced, he didn't say anymore on it.

"Now," said Curt, "this first challenge is called Tire Traverse. Your job is to get from the first tire to the last one without falling.

It semmed simple, but looking at the way the tires were swaying, many things in life were easier said than done.

"Who wants to be the first to try?" asked Lenny

To no one's surprise, the campers looked hesitant.

"C'mon kids," said Curt, "don't be shy."

Finally, Ronnie stepped forward.

"Atta girl," said Derek, smiling encouragingly. "Get up there. Don't be afraid."

Ronnie approached the row of swinging tires and then climbed the first one. She wrapped her long legs around the rope and used her weight to make the tires sway. Using her height to her advantage, she grabbed the second rope and repeated what she'd done the first time. When she reached the final tire, she jumped to the ground, landing gracefully, a mixture of relief and triumph on her face.

"Good job, Ronnie," said Lenny clapping her on the shoulder. "Who's ready to go next?"

Encouraged by Ronnie doing it, Micah decided to try next. He nearly slipped off the fourth tire, but caught himself and made it to the final tire. Next, it was Terry, who was surprisingly agile for a chubby kid. One by one, the campers completed the Tire Traverse. Juan was hesitant at first, but with encouragement from his fellow campers, he climbed the tire. It took him a long time to reach the last tire, but he reached it.

"Good job all of you," said Curt, "On to the next one we go."

The next challenge they had to do was called the swinging log. The campers all had to stand on the log at the same time to the count of ten. It was funny as the campers developed Jell-O legs. Sandra fell off the log while her friends, Lisa and Ellie giggled instead of helping her up.

After trying nine times, the campers finally got it, much to their relief.

They spent the rest of the morning going through the challenge courses. The spider's web, (where participants had to get through the other side without touching the ropes or as they called it "waking the sleeping spider") was the most frustrating task as some people wore baggy clothing and brushed the web slightly. But despite the frustration, the counselors were amazed to see the campers coming together to help make sure the others made it through.

"Well done, kids," said Curt. "You all showed great teamwork and helped garner trust. Which brings me to the last challenge. Trust Fall."

"Trust fall?" said Ronnie.

"Yes, Ronnie," said Curt, smiling slightly, "Trust fall. You have to fall back and trust the other person to catch you."

"No," said Ronnie instantly, folding her arms rigidly, "No way I'm doing that."

"I think you will, Ronnie," said Derek, "you're the first one up."

"You think I'm going to trust any of them to catch me?" said Ronnie, nodding toward the other campers. "They'll let me fall. They hate me."

"I-I don't hate you, Ronnie," said Micah. "I wouldn't let you fall."

Ronnie stared at him, looking both disbelieving and disarmed.

"Nice way to encourage someone, Micah," said Lenny, "why don't you volunteer to catch Ronnie?"

Micah walked to the front. Ronnie, however kept her arms tightly folded, her jaw set. Donna approached Ronnie and said, "C'mon, hon, you can do it. Nobody is going to let you fall. We'll make sure."

After mulling over it for a few seconds, Ronnie unfolded her arms and said, "Alright, I'll do it."

"Excellent!" said Curt. "Micah, you get behind Ronnie. Ronnie, fold your arms across your chest in the shape of an X and close your eyes."

Ronnie did so.

"On the count of three," said Curt. "You're going to fall back. Don't be afraid of falling, just fall. Ready? One...two...three."

Ronnie fell back. Micah caught her within an instant. Everyone clapped as Ronnie let out a sigh of relief.

"Good job, Micah," said Curt. "Now you have to trust Ronnie to catch you."

Ronnie rolled up her sleeves immediately as Micah closed his eyes and crossed his arms.

"On the count of three again," said Lenny, "One...two...three!"

Micah fell back. The campers were expecting Ronnie to let him fall. They were sadly mistaken. She caught him right away.

"Perfect," said Curt. "Great job, you two."

The Trust Fall was the only challenge course that went without incident, leaving everyone in high spirit as they headed to the mess hall for lunch. They had a little time to kill, so everyone went to wash their hands before relaxing and socializing in the mess hall. Kaitlyn went to touch base with the four wrestlers.

"Bret, you'll be doing the next activity," said Kaitlyn. "What would you like to do after lunch?"

"How about a hiking trip around the camp?" said Bret, "nothing like a good interaction with mother nature,"

"Ok, great," said Kaitlyn. "I'll head to the storage later on and get water for all of us."

As she walked off, the four wrestlers sat back, watching the campers interact with each other.

"I'll tell you," said Shawn. "It sure is worth volunteering with these kids. Look at them. Makes me wish I had some of my own to bond with."

The other three looked at him, surprised. It was not often that Shawn say something sentimental.

"Okay, I didn't see you with any booze on our way here," said Mark. "Are you holding?"

Shawn laughed.

"I deserve that." he said. "But I've only been here for two days and I'm really enjoying myself. It's nice to slow down once in a while with your friends and do something good for once."

"He's definitely been hitting the bottle behind our backs," said Curt.

"Or he's been smoking joints like Mark over here," said Bret.

"Wait, you were sleep," said Mark. "How'd you know I was smoking a joint?"

"You woke me up as you came in the cabin last night," said Bret. "Your eyes were as red as Satan's balls. I can put two and two together."

"I'm surprised you can add at all," said Shawn.

"Now there's the rude, insulting Shawn we all know," said Mark. They got up and joined the campers as lunch was finally prepared.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

For a few minutes, the campers watched the counselors gather up things they needed.

"Map?" asked Kaitlyn consulting, Donna.

"Check." said Donna.

"Insect repellent?"

"Check."

"Compass?"

"Check."

"First aid kit?"

"Check."

"Good," said Kaitlyn, "Go over the food again?"

"Energy bars, fruit, beef jerky, and gorp," said Donna

"Gorp?" said Terry, "like the evil teacher from the _Sideway Stories from Wayside School_ books?"

"That's _Mrs. Gorf,_ doofus," said Juan. "Gorp is just another word for trail mix."

Derek, Lenny and the four wrestlers returned from the storage with water canteens and numerous bottles of spring water. They handed out a cateen and water to each camper and the counselors themselves while Donna and Kaitlyn handed out the snacks.

"We're all going on a hike," said Bret, turning his Montral Expos cap backwards. "We'll be climbing Wynaokie High Point . Remember, keep close to the counselors and don't stray away."

As the campers were heading out the door, Kaitlyn and Donna administered bug spray to them before spraying themselves.

It was partly sunny with the souffle of clouds dotting the sky, making it appear like puffs of smoke. The campers and counselors made their way to the main road. They walked past the farm where the ranchers were feeding the animals.

"Hey, look at the horse," said Vincent, pointing at a Welsh pony grazing on hay, "It has teeth like you, Lamar,"

"There's a couple of goats there two," said Lamar, "I wonder if they'd recognize you as family, you smell just like them,"

"I ain't gonna lie," muttered Shawn, who was walking in back of them along with Mark, Bret, and Curt, "that shit was funny."

The campers and counselors trekked west into the Norvin Green Forest , where the hike began at the Otter Hole Trail. Everyone was wowed by the forest and it's virid summer foliage. Sunlight broke out in sections through the tree, making the effect even more breath taking.

"I've never seen anything like this before," said Sandra to Joey and Ellie as they made their way to the High Point, "And I've been to Central Park before."

"I know, right,?" said Joey, "This place makes Central Park look like a small backyard garden, you can get lost for days here."

The hike to Highland trail was rugged, but flat and pleasant. They came to a stop at the site of a beautiful waterfall. The campers climbed up a little rock hop to get a closer look.

"Does anyone know what this waterfall's name is?" asked Donna.

"Yeah," said Ronnie, "Chikahoki Falls."

"That is correct, very good, Ronnie" said Donna, looking pleasantly surprised"And if you think it's impressive now, try seeing it after a rainfall, especially in the spring."

"I've been to New Jersey plenty of times," said Bret. "And I've never known it had so much hidden beauty."

Everyone gazed at the waterfall, watching it flow, listening to its soft whooshings and woodpeckers in the distance. Mark noticed that Ronnie was eyeing the waterfall with a hungry gaze. There was also something else that he couldn't put his finger on. He shrugged as the group got its last looks before continuing their hike.

The trails got a little steeper as the afternoon progressed. They scrambled over a few rocks and had to duck low branches and avoid their clothing being snagged by them. It was no surprised a few people were huffing and puffing. Mark, who was the tallest of everyone there, however, climbed with barely an effort.

At long last, they reached the Wynoakie High Point. Perching themselves on the large rock, they got a panoramic view of Lake Larriwen. They also could see the New York City skyline, to which mostly all of the teenagers whooped at.

"Wow, we're so high up," said Micah looking down at the forest below them, "I feel like I'm on top of the world."

"We'll chill out for a while here," said Kaitlyn, "make sure all of you are hydrated before we trek back down."

While everyone unwinded, different conversations broke out. Micah, Terry and a bespectacled wavy haired boy name Paul were discussing comic books, mainly who'd win between Icicle and Mr. Freeze. Lenny was talking to Bret and Curt about the crazy hours he worked as a firefighter. Derek was discussing basketball with Juan, Joey, Vincent, and Lamar, while the girls were flocking to Shawn, asking him what his favorite things were. Donna and Kaitlyn were engaged in a conversation about birds. Looking over, Mark saw Ronnie, as usual, perched on a large rock away from everyone else, with a small notepad and pen in her hand. She was chewing on the pen, frowning slightly before scribbling away. Mark walked over to her.

"No, not today, Ron," said Mark. "C'mon and join your peers. Quit being so anti-social."

"First off, I am _not_ anti-social," said Ronnie, curtly, not looking up from her notepad, "Anti-social indicates someone with sociopathic behavior. I merely prefer my own company. That is introversion. And secondly, I did not come here to mingle with others."

"Well, what did you come here for, Ron?" said Mark, unable to keep the indignance out of his voice. Why was this child so difficult?

"For nostalgic reasons," said Ronnie, still scribbling in her notepad.

"Nostalgic reasons?" Mark repeated as he sat down next to her, "what do you mean?"

"I've only lived in New York for about five years," said Ronnie, "but I was born here in New Jersey. Newark to be exact while my mom performed at the Paramount Theatre. I used to come here to Vacamas as a kid with my cousins every summer. Boy did we have a ball,I never wanted to leave from here. I'd cry when my parents showed up to take us home. Place still feels the same."

So that's what Mark had seen when she was looking at Chikahoki Falls. Familiarity and longing.

"So, what're you writing?" Mark asked, as Ronnie jotted away.

"Poems," said Ronnie, still not looking up. "I have a love affair with words. It's like when you go into a grocery store and there's so much variety to choose from. You put your ingredients together and create a masterpiece. It's like that with poetry and words. Poetry is food for the creative soul. "

"How old are you, Ronnie?" asked Mark.

"16," said Ronnie, confirming what Mark thought, "why?"

"Does anyone ever tell you that you're articulate for your age?"

Ronnie finally looked up from her notepad and looked Mark in the eye. She was definitely Claudine Peyroux's child; Her lustrous deep brown, almost black eyes were the same as her mother's. And her gaze was just as intense.

"A few times," Ronnie muttered, dropping her gaze.

"You're exceptionally bright," said Mark, "I could tell when I spoke to you during dinner yesterday."

"Thank you," said Ronnie, going back to her notebook. "Do you write poetry as well?"

"Sometimes," said Mark, "I'm not really good at it though, I just usually do it for fun."

"Do you have any on hand?" asked Ronnie

" 'Fraid not, chili pepper," said Mark, a little ruefully.

"That's too bad," said Ronnie, "I would have like to have read it."

"How about letting me read yours?" asked Mark.

After mulling it over for a second, Ronnie muttered, "Okay," and gave the notepad to Mark, who took it and read a poem called Four Two Eight Nine.

 _Four,two, eight, nine_

 _The Queen of Diamonds drowns in opulent wine_

 _She is coldly subdued, oblivious to the_

 _girl with a fine china mind_

 _Who weeps waterfalls as she remembers in rewind_

 _She would always remember that infamous day_

 _For her King of Hearts boarded a boat and sailed away_

"Wow," said Mark, thoroughly impressed. "This is...goddamn you have got me lost for a words. This is almost reminiscent of Charles Lamb's poems. And in a way, Jim Morrisons' poems."

"Funny you say that," said Ronnie. "That's what I was going for. Using his enigmatic style of writing."

"You're a Doors fan?" asked Mark.

"I'm a fan of 60s rock period," said Ronnie, "but yes, the Doors are at the top of my list. God I wish I could have seen them perform. Jim died 3 years before my birth."

"I guess I won't tell you I was one of the few children fortunate enough to see them live." said Mark. "I went with my dad and brothers to see them in San Francisco in '67."

"Yeah, just rub it in," said Ronnie, though she was smiling.

"Whoa, look at that," said Mark. "You _are_ human. And all it took was talking about something you like. You have a beautiful smile, you should do it more often."

Ronnie looked at Mark with that intense gaze again. Like she was wondering how he got her to open up, despite her trying very hard to do so.

"Thank you," she said, looking down once more. "I guess."

After a while, Mark coaxed her into joining her peers into viewing the scenery. She still didn't speak to any of them, though, Rome wasn't built in a day, Mark thought to himself. She did look less mean, however.

The campers all decided to headback around 2:30. The lowering sun's beams showered them and the forest in a pleasant warm glow. It was more quieter than before and they got back to the mess hall faster than they expected. They had time left to kill so the counselors decided to play boardgames while they waited around for dinner. Micah was looking for someone to join him in playing Ker plunk, a complicated game where you took a plastic tube filled with marbles that had multicolored straws underneath. You had to remove a straw from the tube without many marbles hitting the bottom and the player who accumulated the fewest marble drops won.

Everyone else had already jumped into something. Curt and Mark decided to play with Micah. Micah then saw Ronnie, playing with a waterful. He nervously approached her. When she didn't look up, he cleared his throat.

"Hey, Ron," he said timidly, "Would you like to play Ker plunk? We have room for another."

To Micah's surprise, Ronnie said, "Alright, sure."

As she helped Micah set the game up, Curt leaned toward Mark and asked, "That must have been some conversation you had with her. What's your secret?"

"Secret?" Mark asked. "No secret to it. I just got her to let her guard down when I brought up a subject she liked, which happened to be poetry."

"Excellent communication skills," said Curt, "maybe you can get her out of her shell more by suggesting a poetry group."

"You know what, Curt?" said Mark, "that's a damn good plan,"

"More than good my massive ginger friend," said Curt, "It's a _perfect_ plan."

"Quit doin' that," said Mark.

"We're done setting up," said Micah, "who's ready to lose?"

"Bring it," said Mark and Curt playfully.

Ronnie didn't say nothing. She felt surprised and though she wouldn't admit it, pleased that she was a part of it all.


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

"Alas!" exclaimed Shawn as he pulled into the parking lot of a Dick's Sporting Good Store. The outdoor man's candy store!"

He jumped out of the car gleefully and nearly ran into the store, leaving Mark, Bret, and Curt in his wake.

The store was nearly empty, except for a few workers. The cashier, a balding man with a five o'clock shadow, wearing aviators nodded curtly at them as he put up baseball jerseys on display.

"Holy shit," said Shawn, ogling a compound bow, "this is the new series that Bear Archery just released. Man, I'm coming back for this baby."

"Let's get what we came here to get," said Curt, "before Shawn busts in his pants."

Mark and Bret laughed as they all went into the aisle where they kept fishing equipment.

"Bret, find bait," said Shawn, "And if they have fish attractant, that'll be better. Curt, get rods, the ones that spin. Mark, get filet knives. "

"Aye aye, Captain," said Mark mockingly. "Anything else?"

"Yes," said Shawn, picking up a few reels, "next time you go out in public, wear a mask. People are not used seeing your ugly mug on a regular basis."

"Why don't you go jerk off to some deer pictures or something?" muttered Mark, picking up a few knives.

After they had everything they needed, the four gentlemen paid for the fishing items and left. Mark looked at his watch.

"We still got time to kill," he said, "I'm heading to the convenience store for some chips. You guys want anything?"

"I'll take cashews," said Curt.

"I'll have the same thing," said Bret

"I'll have a Playboy Mag," said Shawn, "And a Mr. Goodbar."

As the guys lounged around the car, Mark went inside the convenience store. The interior reminded him of the general store he went to as a kid, with the wooden walls, and relic jars of candy. They even had a rack of the old comics he liked to read as a kid like Archie, Richie Rich and such.

There were four boys, all in the early 20s, inside the store, reading the comics. They ignored Mark and he them as he walked to the back of the store.

Mark got the guys' items first before getting himself a bag of BBQ Chips and a bottle of cherry pop. He bought the items to the register where the cashier, an elderly, but sprightly gentleman who resembled Leslie Nielsen, greeted him and rung his stuff up.

"Can I have a few of those Stick candies as well?" asked Mark.

"Of course, sir," said the man cheerfully, "that will be nine dollars."

Mark pulled out a fat wad of cash and pulled out a ten dollar bill.

"Keep the change," he said. Before he could leave the store, he heard the sound of a gun cocking.

"This is a robbery," said a young man's tenor voice, "be cool, big man, and everything will be over quick."

One of the boys, a scruffy and lanky blond boy, had a Glock 35 aimed at Mark. The other, a shorter brown haired boy had a .22 aimed at the cashier. The other boys were standing by the door, on the look out.

"All we want is the money," said the brown haired boy, "You cooperate and nobody gets hurt or dies."

The elderly man's color in his face drained, but nonetheless, he opened the cash register.

"HURRY UP!" the brown haired boy bellowed, making the old man jump, nearly dropping the money.

The elderly man put the money into a paper bag and handed it to the boy.

"Two hundred dollars," said the elderly man, who, despite the fact that he had a gun pointing at him, had a steady voice, "you take it and leave sunny."

"Not quite," said the blond boy, "I saw old Carrot top over here pull out lot of money a few minutes ago. Cough it up."

 _What is it about money that makes people so stupid?_ thought Mark. He'd been a former bouncer in the roughest neighborhood of Houston. He knew an experienced hood when he saw one. These guys were nothing more than a bunch of bored small town brats who watched one too many heist movies.

Mark reached into his shirt pocket as if he was pulling out the money. With the blond's eyes focused on his left hand, Mark took his right fist and executed a quick, but forceful jab right on the blond punk's chin. Mark didn't wait to see if he was knocked out, for the boy with the brown hair started firing his gun immediately. Lucky for Mark, he was a terrible shot, hitting the jar of candy behind him, making glass shatter everywhere.

"You're mine asshole!" shouted the brown haired boy, firing again, hitting soda this time. The soda exploded with the impact of the bullet and soda sprayed all over the aisle.

"If you were shooting at the ground, you'd still miss, jackass!" taunted Mark, as the boy fired, missing Mark for the third time.

Right on time, Shawn, Bret, and Curt came through the door. The boys who had been watching the the fight instead of the door, tried to run, but Curt football tackled one to the ground and held him in a full nelson, while Shawn grabbed the other one's arm and twisted it upward.

The brown haired boy, who'd been shooting at Mark, saw Bret coming for him. He tried to run, but slid on the spilled soda. Bret grabbed him and put him in a sleeper hold.

"MARK, LOOK OUT!" shouted Shawn. Mark spun around. The blond punk charged at Mark, but Mark was ready for him. Mark kneed him in the stomach and put him in the headlock.

"Call the cops," said Mark to the elderly man.

As the old man grabbed the phone, the blond punk struggled in vain. The headlock looked like a simple move, but when a guy of Mark's brawn and size was applying it, there wasn't much you could do.

The cops arrived shortly. They arrested the would be robbers. While interrogating the elderly cashier, Mark and the other wrestlers paid for whatever had been damaged in the store and left quietly. They didn't want to be hailed as heroes and didn't want the press to know they'd been there.

It was a lazy, balmy Sunday afternoon as the wrestlers returned to Camp Vacamas. The farmhands nodded at the four wrestlers as they walked past the farm and made it the mess hall, where the campers were lounging around, chatting.

"Sorry we're late," said Bret to Kaitlyn. "There was a situation at the convenience store,"

"Oh my God, is everything alright?" said Kaitlyn.

"Some idiots tried to rob the store," said Curt, "We put a stop to that quickly,"

"Thank God you guys were there," said Kaitlyn.

"Thank God the robbers were stupid and had poor aim," muttered Mark.

"We've got the fishing equipment ," said Shawn. "We're heading out to the lake to set up. Have the children ready in 10."

"Ok great," said Kaitlyn. "It was really nice of you guys to buy a whole new set of fishing equipment for the camp. You're wonderful."

"It was nothing," said Shawn trying to appear modest. "We'll see you soon."

The four trotted down to Lake Larriwien, where the water shined fulgently in the afternoon sun. They walked on the dock, where Shawn got out a barometer and checked the pressure of the water.

"Okay, the pressure is rising," said Shawn, "that means the fish will be active a little. We might stand a chance of having fish for dinner if I succeed in teaching the kids."

The campers finally appeared with Derek leading the way. They joined the wrestlers on the doc and were muttering excitedly to themselves.

Shawn cleared his throat loudly to kill the side talking.

"Gather around, boys and girls," said Shawn. Nearly all of the girls ran up immediately, giggling. "We're going to do some fishing this afternoon. Who here has gone fishing before?"

Juan, Vincent, Micah, and Terry raised their hand.

"Very good," said Shawn. "You four can be my helpers and help your peers."

The girls now looked at the boys enviously. They had wanted to be Shawn's helpers.

"We're going to come around and help you set up the fishing rods,"

The four wrestlers and Derek as well as the boys Shawn hand picked went around , helping the others who were having trouble setting up their fishing rods. It took about five minutes for everyone to have their rods situated.

"Not only will you be learning to fish," said Shawn, throwing his line into the water, "but you'll be learning that fishing can apply to everyday life. "When it comes to things you want in life, you have to work hard for it and be patient. The fish may bite, but you still have to fight to keep that fish. Even when you don't catch, a lesson is still to be learned. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

After he stepped down from the soapbox, everyone else threw their line into the lake. For a a few minutes, nothing happened. Then, Terry shouted, "Hey! I think I've got one, I feel one tugging!"

"Quick, reel it in, Terry!" said Derek.

Terry tried to reel it in, but the fish was putting up a real fight. Everyone watched as Terry successfully reeled the fish in.

"Good job, my boy." said Shawn, clapping Terry on his shoulder. "That's a trout you've got right there. Pat yourself on the back."

"I would if I could reach it," said Terry. Peals of laughter echoed around the dock.

Surprisingly, fishing proved to be fruitful that afternoon. After Terry caught his first fish, he caught a couple more. Soon, Shawn and Derek caught a couple of fish. Mark's fish kept getting away. He almost swore in frustration when the fish got away for the fifth time, but he remembered he was around the teens.

"Time's up," said Shawn. "Well done to all who caught fish. And to those who didn't, it's alright, you'll get it next time."

He glanced at Mark, smirking a little. Mark, in turn, made like he was scratching his eye, using his middle finger.

"Hey Derek," said Bret as the campers and counselors headed back to the mess hall, "how's about giving Tony the night off and the guys and myself prepare a fish dinner?"

"Sure, I'll let him know," said Derek. "He'd be glad to hear it. Can you guys cook?"

"Can we cook?" Shawn repeated, "Can Wayne Gretzsky play hockey?"

Derek laughed.

"I'll take that as yes," he said. "I hope you can back that up, Shawn, don't want to disappoint everyone now."

"Don't worry," said Curt. "We'll leave their tastebuds begging for more."

"Alright, I've seasoned the fish," said Mark, "Rub them in the batter and get them ready for frying, Bret. Curt, how's it coming along with the corn on the cobs?"

"Peachy, friend," said Curt, flashing a thumbs up as he turned over the subject in question."

"You think these are enough lemons?" asked Shawn, indicating a plate of neatly chopped lemon wedges.

"More than enough," said Mark. After I finish cutting up this lettuce for this salad help me make the punch, Shawn. "

"This is awesome, ain't it?" said Bret, dipping a few fish into the deep fryer, "the four of us working together in sync."

"Bret, right now you sound as fruity as Pebbles right now," said Shawn.

"And that joke was as corny as Flakes," said Curt.

The delicious smells of fish wafted throughout the mess hall. The campers waited anxiously, their mouths watering, not wanting to talk until the fish was in front of them.

The food was finally prepared. The four wrestlers set up the tables before serving the food as well. The fish was golden and crispy, the corn was nice and buttery, and the salad looked delicious. Mark had added fruit and nuts to it.

"We shouldn't toot our own horn," said Curt, "but honk honk, we deserve to. This spread out looks great."

As usual, Lisa and the girls beckoned Shawn to their table. Mark sat at a table where Derek, Ronnie, and Micah were sitting.

"Hey guys," said Mark in a cheery voice that was uncharacteristic of him. "What's up, did ya'll catch any fish today?"

"Yeah, I just caught one," said Micah gloomily, cutting up his fish. "I wasn't so lucky after that."

"It's better than what I caught," said Ronnie. "Nothing."

"Exactly, Ronnie," said Derek, "I didn't catch anything either. I never was good at it myself. I remember when I used to go to Lake Hopatcong with my uncle years ago. I fell out the boat trying to catch a fish. And to add insult to injury, somehow I tangled myself in the pole.

Mark, Ronnie, and Micah laughed.

"This food is amazing," said Ronnie, biting into her fish. "Tastes like how my grandmother used to make it, using the same seasoning. Kudos to whoever made this salad too."

Mark grinned and said, "Thanks, chili pepper."

Ronnie looked up at Mark in surprise, then grinned and continued eating her food.

While they ate, they talked a little about their family background.

"My father was a war veteran," said Mark, "He served in the Navy and fought during World War II. He's set to retire from his job soon. 38 great years."

"My dad served time in the military as well," said Derek. "9th Marine Regiment, fought in 'Nam and died during the Battle of Hamburger Hill. I went to military school myself, and trained in the ROTC, you know, because I wanted to follow in his footsteps."

"I don't know much about my parents," said Micah. "They died in a car accident when I was still an infant. But my grandparents, who raised me are Holocaust survivors. They came here to America during the 50s and they own a bakery that's been operating for nearly 30 years. "

"What about you, Ronnie?" asked Derek, "Tell us a little about your family."

Ronnie didn't answer right away; her mouth was full of fish.

"My mom is a jazz musician and activist," she said, "she was a big part of the 60s counterculture movement and has protested and marched , you name it. Taught me everything I know about standing up for what's right.

"What about your dad?" asked Mark, who was eager to know a little more about her legendary parents."

"My dad is a poet, jazz musician, and activist," said Ronnie. "His family fled from Cuba to America when he was 11, a few days after the Bay of Pigs Invasion. If you read my dad's poems, one of his main themes are about his early days in Havana. As a matter of fact, my parents did an album together. My mother's standard was titled. _Mi Habana Prieto_ , it was about my father."

 _Of course_ thought Mark, sipping his bug juice, which Shawn had made diabetic coma sweet. _Her father is Esteban de los Santos. He was well known in Spanish Harlem and considered in many circles to be as revolutionary as Ché Guevara._

"You have a pretty interesting family background there, Ronnie," said Derek. "Will you be taking in their footsteps?"

"99% chance," said Ronnie. "The arts are my destiny,"

After dinner, there was a pleasant stupor seeping throughout the messhall. The stupor that came from the surfeit of good food you'd just devoured moments ago. Nobody wanted to talk or do anything. They just wanted to lay there and savor the moment.


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

After the excellent fish dinner, the campers and counselors just played board games all evening and enjoyed apple pie and milk before heading off to their respective cabins. While the girls showered and changed into their night clothes, they talked about who was the most good looking counselor.

"Derek and Lenny are not bad looking," said Ellie, "I suppose Bret isn't ugly either."

"Oh, c'mon, Curt is not bad looking either," said Sandra. "Those curly blond locks, I'd love to run my fingers through it."

"None of them hold a candle to Shawn," said Lisa. "Oh my God, he is just so gorgeous! All that pretty blond hair and that dimpled smile. Oh and those eyes. They're just like staring up at the afternoon sky."

"He's so dreamy," said Ellie, starry-eyed. I love when he wears those tank tops and tight shorts. So muscular."

"I wonder if he's married?" said Lisa, dreamily. "How does the name Lisa Michaels sound?"

"Non-existing," said Sandra, "He has a ring on his finger. Even if he wasn't married, you're like totally too young for him."

"A girl can dream, can't she?" said Lisa, "anyway, what about you Ronnie? Which counselor do you think is hot?"

Ronnie, who slipped on a Hawaiian Punch t-shirt, looked at the girls and said, "I happen to think Mark is handsome."

Lisa and the other girls looked at Ronnie in disbelief.

" _Mark_?" said Lisa in a voice that bordered condescension. "You think _he's_ handsome?"

"Yes, I do," said Ronnie, her voice reddening slightly, but her voice was strongly sure. "As a matter of fact, I think he's much more handsome than Shawn."

"He looks like the undead," said Sandra. "There must be something wrong with your eyes, Ronnie."

"If you mean they look past just someone's good looks, then you're right, there is something wrong with my eyes," snapped Ronnie, balling her fists up. She already disliked the whole lot of them. It was their stupid friend, Joanie, that nearly got her suspended from school for the fight, which they instigated.

"If you really think Mark is handsome," said Lisa, sneering, "then you really have poor taste, Ronnie"

Ronnie took long striding steps and got into Lisa's face, her teeth bared in a dog like snarl.

"Oh yeah?" she said, her eyes flashing dangerously like they always did when her rage was close to the surface, "I'd rather have poor taste than be a superficial bitch like you anyday."

"Excuse me?" said Lisa

"You heard me," said Ronnie calmly, although she was quivering with rage. "You want to do something about it? Get up and fight. I'll take you. You and your little brain dead friends."

Lisa looked as if she was considering it. Then she remembered how savagely Ronnie had beaten Joanie and thought better of it.

"Thought so," spat Ronnie, "if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

She climbed up her bunk and pulled the covers over her.

Breakfast was French Toast with fruit, back bacon, eggs, and orange juice. Mark looked at the girls who were sitting with Shawn. They were whispering and flashing dirty looks at Ronnie, who paid them no mind as she cut up her French toast into long rectangular shapes, humming to herself.

"What's going on between you and those four?" Mark asked Ronnie.

"I don't know," said Ronnie, taking a bite of toast. "I know one thing; If they don't stop whispering about me, I'm going to go over there and break all of their pretty faces."

"A little too early in the morning for violence," said Mark, shoveling egg into his mouth.

"Well they shouldn't single me out because my preferences," said Ronnie.

"What do you mean, chili pepper?" asked Mark.

"Well, it's silly what we argued about," said Ronnie, "but they were going on about which counselor was the most good looking. And they scoffed at me because I said you were. Even more so than Shawn."

Mark looked taken aback, but recovered a milisecond later. Ronnie, however, still caught this.

"You seem surprised," said Ronnie, her eyebrows raised, "you don't think you're handsome?"

"Of course I do," said Mark.

"But you don't think you're more handsome than Shawn?" asked Ronnie.

"I'm an honest man, Ron," said Mark. "I am fairly good looking. But Shawn is movie star good looking."

Ronnie laughed.

"It's funny, and a little unfortunate really, how people think beauty is just limited to good looks," she said. "There's more to beauty than just that. Yeah, Shawn is as you say, 'movie star good looking', I'll give him that. But, there's nothing behind it, no sustenance to him. If you remove the layers, you'll just see that he is just an ordinary guy. You, on the other hand, you're kind of like Jim Morrison. You're must than just a handsome face, you have an aura about you that exudes extraordinary. The way you conduct yourself, the way you speak about the things you enjoy with passion, and your kindness. You have a beautiful mind and soul as well as face. And that, makes you more good looking Shawn can ever hope of achieving."

Mark shook his head, chuckling.

"I never thought of it that way," he said, "thanks a lot."

Ronnie smiled.

"It's nothing," said Ronnie, "anyway, the girls don't really like me anyways. You remember when I beat up that girl when you were visiting my school?"

"Yep," said Mark, who was unlikely to forget that anytime soon, "I've been wanting to ask you. What happened that day?"

Ronnie took a big gulp of orange juice before answering.

"Well, that girl was badmouthing my parents," said Ronnie, wiping the juice from her mouth with the back of her hand. " They're friends with her. They're real snobs you know, their parents are affluential and what not. They didn't consider my parents real contributors to society. Said they were nothing but liberal troublemakers and that my mom was a lush and my father was a refugee. "

Mark's pale face reddened slightly.

"That's a messed up thing to say," he said. "Nothing but malarky. Why, your mom influenced many comtemporary soul singers today. And your dad, hell, he is one of the most influential Latino poets of all time, if not, the most. Their contributions mean more than those psuedo-philanthropist rich folks throwing around a few bucks when the cameras are around."

"Yeah," said Ronnie, "my mom may struggle with certain issues, but she is my mom and I won't let anybody trash talk or dismiss her contributions."

"Between me and you," said Mark, "I don't blame you for bopping her. It's always fun to see a little spoiled brat get their comeuppance."

Ronnie laughed while taking a sip of her orange juice and half of it went up her nose. Mark helped her clean up.

"Listen, you shouldn't care what people think anyways," he said. "If I cared what people thought, I wouldn't be a professional wrestler. I'd probably be off, doing some job I hate, my basketball career never jumping off."

"I normally don't care what people think," said Ronnie, "she needed to know she crossed the line though."

Mark noticed she jabbed her back bacon with her fork harder than she meant to.

It was raining heavily that morning. Nobody wanted to get soaked to the bone, so

Kaitlyn consulted with the four wrestlers on some inside activities they could do.

"How about some Pictionary now?" asked Curt.

"No problem," said Kaitlyn, "And for ten o'clock, Mark, it's your call?"

"I was thinking of helping them get in touch with their poetic side," said Mark

"Great idea," said Kaitlyn, "Bret, you will have the kids at 11, what do you want to do?"

"They can do some reading for an hour at the library," said Bret.

"That's fine," said Kaitlyn. "And what would you like to do with them after lunch, Shawn?

"Well, if it's alright, we can watch a movie," said Shawn, "I noticed a Blockbuster not too far from here, we'll rent some a couple of movies."

"Great, I'll tell the other counselors," said Kaitlyn. As she went to talk to Donna, Derek, and Lenny, Shawn looked at Mark and said. "Poetic side, Mark? Seems like you're getting in touch with your effeminate side, eh big boy?"

"If you don't shut up, you'll be paying a visit to the other side," said Mark, "You shouldn't even talk about effiminate, Mr. I Kiss My Mirror Reflection."

"Hey, that was supposed to be a secret!" said Shawn, feigning outrage as Bret and Curt chuckled.

After the dishes and tables were cleaned up, the campers and counselors remained in the mess hall. Mark helped Derek and Lenny lift a large black board and put it in the middle of the mess hall.

"Gather up chairs, kids," said Curt. "We're going to be playing Pictionary. Who has played Pictionary before?"

Nearly half the room raised their hands.

"Great, I'll explain the rules to those who haven't played before," said Curt, "We're split up into teams. A player from each team has to select a card with an object. You have to draw that object without words or gestures. The team who guesses the drawing correctly gets the point. Understood?"

Everyone nodded their heads.

"Good," said Curt, I'm going to count one and two. The ones get on one side, and the twos get on the other side.

Curt slowly counted. The teams scrambled around for a few minutes. Sandra and Lisa looked on enviously at their friends Ellie and Marilyn got grouped with Shawn, Team One. Mark also happened to be grouped with Shawn. Ronnie was grouped with Bret and Donna's team, and she also look bitterly disappointed. Mark wasn't sure whether it was because she was grouped with Sandra and Lisa or something else.

"Alright, I have a quarter," said Curt, "team one, what do you call?"

"Heads," said Lamar.

"Alright," said Curt as he flipped the coin in the air. It landed besides Vincent's sneaker.

"It's tails," said Curt, "which means Team Two goes first. Who wants to be first up to try?"

Micah raised his hand.

"Come on up, Micah," said Curt, "and choose a category."

Micah chose blue, which was object. Micah looked at the word and slid it back into the pile.

"Already, Micah?" asked Curt. "Go."

Micah started drawing an oval shaped object. The campers immediately started shouting out the answers.

"A Lady Finger!" shouted Joey.

"A football!" shouted Juan.

"My grandfather's toenail!" shouted Terry. Everyone shrieked with laughter at that one.

Then Micah started adding wheels to the oval shaped object and it became apparent what they he was drawing.

"A skateboard!" Paul exclaimed.

"That's it!" said Micah. "A skateboard."

"Good job, Paul," said Curt, putting a tally on the board, "One point for Team One. Speaking of team one, who wants to go on Team One?"

Lamar stood up and selected Person for the category. He looked at the card as if he was having a hard time deciphering what to do."

"I can't draw this," he said.

"It doesn't have to be DiVinci," said Curt. "As long as people can tell what it is you're drawing. Just try, Lamar."

Lamar began attempting to draw someone with round rim glasses.

"John Lennon," said Ronnie

"Good guess, but no," said Lamar

"A dork," said Terry.

"Naw, man," said Lamar, laughing.

"A Beatnik," said Shawn as Lamar began drawing a hat on the person. He began to add stripes to the hat.

"Oh!" said Ellie. "Where's Waldo!"

"There you go," said Lamar.

"A point for team two," said Curt, "Who's next?"

This time, Ronnie got up. She chose a category (animal) and had her chalk at the ready."

"Go Ronnie," said Curt.

Ronnie's drawing skills were more apparent than when she drew the rat. The minute she drew tusks and a trunk, Shawn shouted, "Elephant!"

Ronnie pointed at Shawn confirming that he was right. Curt marked a second tally under Team One's name.

They continued Pictionary until about nine fifty-five. Team Two won by one point.

"Well done, Team Two," said Curt. "Take a victory lap."

Micah really started to do it until Curt said, "I was just kidding. Ya'll can take a five minute break."

"You can draw, girl," Vincent said to Ronnie. "I meant to tell you that when you drew the rat."

"Thanks," said Ronnie.

"Yeah, I told you she was amazing," said Joey, "she helped us win the door prize last year for Christmas."

Mark saw Ronnie give another genuine smile. If she was getting compliments now, she was in for a big surprise when she found out what the next activity was.


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

Mark allowed the campers to chatter for one last minute. The minute he stood in front of the group and cleared his throat, silence fell over the mess hall. He had that effect on people. It happened when he entered the ring.

"We're going to do something a little different today," he said. "We're all going to find our inner poets. Poetry is an art form. The art form of writing or speaking sublime compositions, with the intent of provoking pleasure, elevating the thoughts, and using your imagination. Now, what you guys are going to do, simple as pie, is write a poem. It doesn't have to rhyme or anything. Just write. Don't even think about what you're going to write. The paper will be coming around to you."

Kaitlyn passed paper to the campers while Donna passed them pencils. Mark took a paper and pencil himself and sat next to Juan.

"You all have a half an hour to complete the assignment," he said.

Mark looked around. People were staring at the blank pieces of paper, as if waiting for the paper to tell them what to write. The only one who wasn't doing this was Ronnie, who was scribbling away. Mark smiled to himself and started jotting down what he wanted to say.

After the time had passed, Mark got back up. All eyes were on him as he cleared his throat.

"You're all going to stand in front of everyone and recite your poems," said Mark. Micah groaned (he got nervous talking in front of people) Remember, the poem is powerful, but the presentation and the strength of your voice makes the power more effective. I'll start first."

He cleared his throat loudly, and recited the poem.

 _"I'm from the land of the free, but am I really free?_

 _We are slaves, to the grind, to our T.V._

 _perennially content with being told what to do_

 _walking through life, just names without a clue_

 _letting our fears grab a hold, no sign of release_

 _Once we lose fear, then we'll finally know peace_

 _we'll be free as eagles, soaring beyond Space_

 _beyond the Heavens, to our truth birth place_

 _No worries about the future, no dwelling on the past_

 _You're a sponge, soak up the moment, live the day like your last."_

The campers and the counselors clapped. Mark held up his hand.

"In poetry," he started, "we don't clap. We snap our fingers. Now, who wants to go? Step right on up here?"

Joey got up in front of everyone.

"Remember, loud and clear, Joey," said Mark, "break a leg, kid."

Joey nodded and read his poem aloud.

 _"All of this rain gets me down._

 _so much rain if I go outside, I'll drown_

 _I want to have fun, but can't without the sun_

 _Can't stop complaining, because it keeps on raining."_

"Great job," said Mark as everyone snapped their fingers. "Short and to the point. I like the way you used the current situation as inspiration as well. Nicely done. So, who's next?"

Lamar got up and strutted Freddie Washington like to the front. He cleared his throat and read his poem.

 _"On the basketball court, I am unstoppable."_

 _Keeping up with me is nearly impossible_

 _No one can match me skill for skill_

 _Because I can shoot, dunk, block and steal_

 _So bring on your squad or troops_

 _Because I'll outshine them all in a game of hoops"_

"I'm really impressed," said Mark, as Lamar sat down, "Great job, Lamar,"

"Please man," said Juan, "I'll kick your butt in a basketball game,"

"Get outta here," said Lamar, "You can have the Dream Team and you still couldn't beat me."

"You buggin'." said Juan laughing.

"Who's next?" said Mark. "Come on, don't be shy."

Ronnie finally got up. She didn't have her piece of paper on her. She glanced at Mark, who winked at her encouragingly. She then turned back to the audience, closed her eyes momentarily and recited her poem.

 _"The King stalks the woods, donning a fiery crown_

 _his steps reverberate through the verdant ground_

 _he looks imposing, but he's sweeter than wild geans_

 _He is lonely as he looks for his laudable queen_

 _Cold uncertainty sits in his chest_

 _Wondering will he succeed in his quest?_

 _But if he would stop looking far and beyond_

 _His queen has been in front of him, all along."_

Everyone snapped their fingers immediately. Mark had an impassive look on his face, but it was gone within seconds as he smiled and said, "Very well spoken, Ronnie, good job. We have time for one more. Who's next?"

Terry got up this time. He too didn't have his paper as he cleared his throat.

" _Roses are red, violets are blue._

 _I'm hungry, when is lunchtime due?"_

The mess hall exploded with laughter. Mark was holding his stomach as he said weakly, "Nice one Terry. That wraps this session up. Everyone wash your hands and get ready for lunch."

"I really liked your poem," said Kaitlyn to Mark as the campers headed to the restroom, "You would have never struck me as a poet."

"I guess I'm the reason why the phrase "looks are deceiving" was invented," said Mark, laughing.

"You and the other guys are doing a wonderful job with the kids," said Kaitlyn. "Keep it up."

After a decent lunch of turkey sandwiches, fruit cups, and chicken noodle soup, Bret took them all to the library where they had an hour of quiet time and reading. Mark was thrilled when he saw _The Dharma Bums_ one of his favorite books from his favorite author, Jack Kerouac and was going to take it with him back to the cabin for late night reading.

Shawn, who had trekked to Blockbuster while they were in the library came back with 2 tapes and movie snacks. He, Lenny and Derek helped pop the popcorn, while Curt and Bret passed out candy and juice to the kids. Mark helped Kaitlyn and Donna set up the VCR and TV.

"Ok, Shawn was kind enough to rent some movies for us," said Donna, "Edward Scissorhands and Back to the Future. If you want to watch Back to the Future first, raise your hands."

It was nearly a landslide. Nearly everyone raised their hand for Back to the Future.

"Alright, Back to the Future it is." said Donna.

"Back to the Future is one of those movies you never get tired of no matter how many times you watch," said Paul, and Micah and Terry nodded in agreement."

For the next few hours, there was nothing but silence. Apart from the movie and occasional munching of popcorn, you could hear a pin drop. All eyes were glued to the T.V.

After the movie ended, Shawn popped Edward Scissorhands in. Lisa muttered to the other girls, "I've seen this movie and it's so touching. Even in this movie, Johnny Depp is really cute!"

Ronnie, who was sitting a couple of seats behind them all, rolled her eyes, along with Joey, Vincent, and Juan.

But Lisa had been right about one thing; Edward Scissorhands _was_ a touching movie. The counselors noticed that there were a few campers with wet eyes, but they wiped it quickly when they saw someone looking.

Dinner was roast beef, mashed potatoes, and string beans with bread pudding for dessert. Bret was looking out the window.

"This rain is showing no sign of letting up," he said to Kaitlyn, "if any it's pouring harder."

"Would you like to go over a list of indoor activities?" asked Kaitlyn, reaching into her charts and slipping Bret a paper with a list of things to do.

"Yeah, that works," said Bret.

The four wrestlers looked down at the list.

"We can test their mental skills," said Shawn, "have them play the Hot Seat."

"No problem," said Kaitlyn, "And the hour after that?"

"How about Mr. and Mrs. Right?" said Mark. "That should be fun for a bit."

"And then for the final hour, we'll have them play charades." said Curt.

"Excellent," said Kaitlyn, "I'll notify the campers."

For the next few hours, the campers and counselors busied themselves while the rain persisted. The first game, the Hot Seat, was where the counselor had to write something on a piece of paper and the person in the hot seat had to guess what it was based on clues from the group. Micah proved to be the most proficient at it, getting the answer on just a couple of guesses. However, they had the most fun, playing Charades. The campers found it most entertaining when the wrestlers acted out their subjects, particularly Mark getting on his fours and acting out a lion.

The night ended in high spirits despite the rain. Everyone was extra talkative as they went to their respective cabins. Friends bade each other good night before settling in for the night.

It was a little past midnight. It had finally stopped raining, but that fresh rain smell still lingered. Mark found himself unable to sleep. He didn't know whether he was restless or whether is was Shawn's deep snores. He had kept reading _The Dharma Bums_ , hoping he would fall asleep, but before he knew it, he'd finished the book.

He laid in his bed for five minutes, staring at the ceiling before deciding that he wasn't going to get a wink of sleep. He felt like taking a walk. A walk to Lake Larriwien sounded like the thing to do at the moment. He got out of the bed and got dressed. He slipped on his denim jacket. As he slid his hands into his pockets, he found a surprise. _Three surprises._ Three fat doobies were inside his jacket. He took one and put the other two in his duffel bag. Nothing like staring a clear placid lake while getting baked. He shut the door behind him quietly, though with the way Shawn was snoring, they wouldn't hear him.

The ground was soft and muddy as Mark went up the trail. He was glad he remembered to pack his boots for occasions like these. Aside from his heavy footsteps, the only sound was owls hooting in the distance. The moonlight glowed brightly along the campground, causing the trees to cast long eerie shadows.

When he got to the lake, he discovered that he wasn't the only one there. It was a camper. A female camper. Mark trudged toward the unsuspecting camper. As he got closer, he realized that it was Ronnie. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned around and saw Mark coming toward her."

"Christ!" she gasped, clutching her heart, "you scared the shit out of me."

"What're you doing here, walking around late at night like this?" Mark demanded.

"I'm sorry," said Ronnie, "I used to do this every night years ago, come to the Lake late at night. I felt like the Lake called me here during those nights. And it's called me back again for old time's sake."

"Call you?" asked Mark.

"Yes," said Ronnie, "It's called you too, hasn't it? That's why you're here?"

"I guess," said Mark, "listen Ronnie, being out of bed, and being out in the wilderness past your bedtime, I can report this."

Ronnie nodded her head and looked glum.

"But maybe the next time I catch you, " said Mark, "I really don't feel like reporting anybody right now."

He smiled at the dumbstruck look on Ronnie's face. She relaxed instantaneously and resumed staring at the lake.

"I really liked your poem earlier, Mark," she said, "about being free. I feel that way. I want to be free."

"Free from what, honey?" asked Mark.

"Free from my fate," said Ronnie, "Everyone who knew my parents expect me to be just as great as they. I know I said the arts are my destiny, and they are, but I don't live with the burden of living up to everyone's expectations."

"It's no fun, living in the shadow of a famous relative, I bet," said Mark, "I kinda had to deal with the same crap. Everyone expected me to stay in school and play ball. I'm the type of guy who will do the opposite of what you tell me to do. I'm going to do what I want to do. Had a falling out with the family for the way I was. In better terms, the less you worry about pleasing others, the happier you'll be."

"That's a great way of looking at it." said Ronnie.

Mark pulled out the doobie and lit it. Ronnie looked at him as if she couldn't believe he was doing it.

"Why so surprised?" asked Mark taking a drag, "don't act like you don't smoke this."

"What makes you think I smoke marijuana?" asked Ronnie, smirking.

"As if that smirk wasn't confirmation enough," said Mark, "Some of your fingertips have burn marks. Wanna hit this here?"

"Would love to," said Ronnie as Mark handed her the doobie. She took a few pulls and coughed.

"Rookie," said Mark, smirking.

"Shut up," said Ronnie, taking a few more pulls.

After a few minutes, both of them were experiencing that intense euphoric hazy feeling you got after you smoked marijuana. Both of them were swaying to the side, not saying anything for a moment as they watched the lake's ripples flow peacefully. While Mark was alone with Ronnie, he figured he'd ask her what he wanted to ask her earlier but couldn't.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"That poem you cited earlier," Mark started, "that was about me wasn't it?"

Ronnie didn't say anything at first. But then she looked at Mark and said, "Why do you ask?"

"Hmmm, let me think," said Mark in mock concentration, "The part about the King donning a crown of fire. One can interpret that as the King having red hair, which I have. And the part about him looking imposing, and looking for a queen that's right in front of him...which would be...you?"

Ronnie laughed.

"Okay," she said, walking closer to Mark, "you got me. It was about you. Maybe I like you. Maybe I'm falling in love with you."

"Is that right?" said Mark.

"Yes," said Ronnie, as she fiddled around with a tree leaf, "Maybe you're slowly starting to fall in love with me too, but you feel it would cross boundaries, me being sixteen and all."

Mark suddenly felt uneasy. And slightly afraid. Probably because what Ronnie was saying was true.

"And what makes you think that?" asked Mark.

"It's written all in your eyes," said Ronnie. "I see the way you look at me sometimes."

"That's very observant of you," said Mark, dryly.

"Oh, C'mon," said Ronnie, "don't fight it. You shouldn't deny yourself something you want. It's fun sometimes you know, tasting flesh of forbidden fruit."

"I think," said Mark quietly, "that we should be heading back. I'll walk you back to your cabin, alright?"

Ronnie's face was impassive, but by the way she was tearing the leaf to eighths now, he could tell she was slightly upset.

"Alright," she said, and her voice was a little brittle.

They trekked back down the hill. Neither one of them said anything to each other until Ronnie was in front of her cabin.

"Cya," she muttered.

"Yeah," said Mark patting her on the head, "Cya, kid."

He hoped no one was woke. He did not want to talk about his encounter with Ronnie. He felt so confused, and a little ashamed. Ronnie's words were echoing in his head.

 _"It's fun sometimes, you know, tasting flesh of forbidden fruit."_

None of the other guys were awake, Thank God, Mark thought. He remove every article of clothing and went into the bathroom to take a cold shower.


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, was all Ronnie kept thinking as she quietly crept back into her cabin through the bathroom. She had let the marijuana talk for her. She knew she shouldn't have let her feelings for Mark known to him. He would never talk to her again. He was pretty sure he would avoid her from now on.

As Ronnie quietly changed into her night clothes, she thought about how much she had liked Mark. His gentle smile, his intelligence, his passion he put into everything he did, she just was so attracted to him. And she loved how he called her chili pepper in that slight Texas drawl. Growing up with her mom, who was never afraid to go after something she wanted, she had thought what she was doing was right. But she came on too strong. Even under the influence of the marijuana, Ronnie knew she had scared Mark.

 _"Men are afraid of their feelings,"_ her mother once told her while she cooked oxtail soup, _"they're brainwashed into believing getting in touch with their feelings make them a little sweet. The woman gots to do all of the work to make them realize their feelings. Always remember that, Veronica."_

 _I hope you're right, Mom,_ thought Ronnie as she turned on her side and waited to fall asleep.

The morning sun poured into the wrestlers cabins. Mark, who lay on top of his covers in nothing but his cross chain and blue boxer shorts, was the first one to wake up. He had gone asleep only two hours ago. This didn't bother him, as a professional wrestler being constantly on the road, lack of sleep wasn't foreign to him. He had been up all night thinking about his interaction with Ronnie. Telling her she was in love with him. He could have easily dismissed it as infatuation, puppy love. But Ronnie was more mature than most people her age, Mark could sense that definitely. She wasn't driven by hormones like her peers, Lisa and her cliqué. He was both unnerved and impressed by her boldness.

Mark was usually a reserved man, but he'd almost lost control last night. Ronnie was right. He _was_ falling in love with her, but he kept it to himself. Truth be told, he'd started falling in love with her every since the hike and read her poem. She was intelligent, she loved the arts, and not to mention she was beautiful. Those deep and warm dark eyes and the way her mother's Creole and father's Cuban heritage blended magnificently in her features. But, and there always was a but. She was 16.

 _So what?_ a small voice in the regions of Mark's brain said almost at once. He loved his Jodi, no doubt, they were high school sweethearts, but Christ, she bored the shit out of him. He hated to say it, but it took marrying her for him to realize that. Mark was a wild man, but he was also a man of different tastes, things she just didn't adhere to and Ronnie did. He never had a relationship with someone that young and things like that were commonly frowned upon in society.

"Fuck society," Mark said out loud.

"Talking to yourself now?" said Shawn, making Mark jump. He was so immersed in his thoughts, he hadn't heard Shawn and the others getting up. "Don't want to have to call those guys in white to slap a strait jacket on you."

"What would you know about "straight", Sweetness?" Mark retorted as he got up.

Bret and Curt was already in the showers. Mark and Shawn joined them shortly before getting dressed and ready to go to the mess hall.

"Hey guys, I'll catch up with you," said Mark as he went to the ranger's station. "Gonna make a phone call real quick."

He went to the pay phone and put a few quarters in it before dialing his house number. It rung a few times before Jodi picked up."

"Hello?" said Jodi's voice.

"Hey, Jodi dear," said Mark.

"Mark!" said Jodi, "it's so good to hear your voice. I'm used to you calling every night after a show."

"Sorry, hun," said Mark, "Working with teens all day is more taxing then wrestling out on the road every night, but in a good way. This is the first time I've slept properly in ages. But enough about me, how are you?"

"I've been pretty good," said Jodi, "I really miss you, though, Mark, it's so cold and lonely in the bed without you big man."

"Aww, don't worry, Jo," said Mark, "I'll be home before you know it, dear. In the meantime, I'll call regularly. I'll send some post cards too."

"Thank you Mark," said Jodi, "I'll talk to you soon."

"Will do," said Mark, "love you."

"Love you too." said Mark. He made a kissing sound on the phone before hanging up.

It was already a balmy seventy degrees out as Mark walked across the grass to the mess hall. He greeted the ranch handlers as he walked past them.

The minute he stepped into the mess hall, he pretended he was looking around, but in reality, he was looking for Ronnie. She wasn't sitting in her usual spot. She was sitting with Curt, Micah, and Paul, preoccupied with eating her oatmeal. Mark had a feeling she was trying to avoid eye contact with him. Whether she was angry at him or afraid, she wasn't sure.

Mark sat with Juan, Vincent and Bret. He greeted Juan and Vincent with a high five.

"Hey, Mr. Mark, Mr. Bret, " said Juan, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, "any chance we can play a game of baseball today?"

"Yeah, today's going to be perfect conditions for a baseball game," said Vincent. "Any of you guys follow baseball?"

"Expos fan here," said Bret, "but yeah, we'll talk to Kaitlyn and set that right up for you. Remember, whatever activity you guys want to do, consult any of the counselors."

"Wait 'til you see my skills on the field," said Juan, "Lamar may be good at basketball, but he can't see me on the diamond."

"You ought to have Curt on your team," said Mark, "He played baseball in college. He has a wicked curveball."

"Really?" said Juan, his eyes lighting up like a fat kid in a candy store. "I'll go ask him after breakfast."

Mark said no more, but put some cream cheese on his bagel and poured himself a large glass a orange juice. He shot cursory glance at Ronnie. She was talking to Micah and Paul. Mark was glad she starting to socialize with her peers, but he did wish he'd sat with her and try to talk to her to see how she was doing.

After breakfast, Mark and the other wrestlers consulted with Kaitlyn and the other counselors about Juan's inquiry about baseball. Kaitlyn okayed it and Mark went with Lenny and Derek to get the baseball equipment. Derek was just as excited as the kids about the game. He was also a regular follower of baseball and played a little baseball himself in high school. Mark found out he was also a pitcher.

"Should be a great duel between you and Curt then," said Mark, "Curt pitched in college."

"May the best man win then, eh?" said Derek.

The campers were already on the field. Lamar and Juan were trash talking each other about who'd win.

"I'm better than you at basketball, and I'll be better than you at your own sport," said Lamar.

"Please, Lamar," said Juan, "You couldn't catch a cold even if I coughed if your face, man."

Shawn, who was setting up water and Gatorade fought hard to keep a straight face.

"Let's save that trash talk for the field, eh kids?" said Bret. "We're going to have a few practice runs. Put on the gear."

Mark, Donna, and Lenny helped the campers out with their swing, while Derek, Curt, and Bret helped the campers out with throwing and base running. Juan hadn't been lying about his baseball prowess. With his wiry build, he was agile and athletic and could throw the ball with lethal accuracy. Vincent could hit the bat really well. He hit one so hard, it sailed into the woods, causing nearly everyone to drop their jaws in awe.

"That was a damn well hit ball," said Mark, to which the others agreed.

When they felt the campers were ready, the counselors lined them up. They chose Juan and Lamar as captains. For his team, Juan chose Curt, Lenny, Bret, Vincent, Ronnie, Micah, and Donna. Lamar chose Derek, Lisa, Joey, Paul, Kaitlyn, Sandra, and Terry. Shawn was the designated hitter for Juan's team, and Mark was the designated hitter for Lamar's team.

Lamar's team was going to bat first. Curt took the mound. Paul was up at bat.

Curt threw a two seam fastball. Paul swung at it and missed. Strike one

C'mon, man, hit it!" said Lamar, sitting on the bench. Paul held his bat up again ready for the bitch. Curt delivered it, this time another two seam. Another strike. Lamar sucked his teeth.

Curt threw another pitch, the infamous curve ball. Paul swung and miss. He was out. Lamar gave him an earful when he went to the bench.

"You could have hit that second pitch," said Lamar. "You sorry, man."

"Well if you think it's that easy, you go up there and hit it," said Paul angrily

"I will," said Lamar, getting up and getting a bat, "Watch and learn, four eyes,"

Lamar stepped up at bat. Juan, who was catching, said to Lamar, "get ready to grab some pine early,"

"Please," said Lamar, "watch a pro at work, my man."

Juan rolled his eyes as he signalled for the curveball. Curt nodded and threw it. Lamar swung and missed, the bat flying out of his hand, narrowly avoiding Lenny, who was the first baseman.

Lamar retrieved his bat and then went to try again. Curt threw a fastball this time. Lamar hit a popup. Juan stood up and caught it. Out number 2. Lamar's team shook their heads, looking disappointed.

After Curt struck out Joey, Juan's team was up. Juan was the first one up at bat. Derek threw a change up. Juan refused to chase it. It was a ball. Juan's teammates cheered him on with encouraging words. Derek threw the next pitch, a slider. Juan slapped it over Lamar's head at third base for a base hit. Lamar scrambled to get it and threw it to first base at Kaitlyn, but Juan was already at first base before Kaitlyn caught the ball. Juan's team clapped and whistled.

Next up was Lenny. Derek threw a cut fastball. It scorched past Lenny and into Paul's hand, who almost dropped it. It was a strike. Derek shot a cursory at Juan, who had one foot on the first base and one foot ready to steal and threw another slider. Paul caught it for another strike, and threw it quickly at second base to Joey. Joey caught the ball, but Paul had thrown it too high, therefore, Juan had stolen base successfully.

Derek threw a changeup this time. There was a loud crack as the ball sailed into the center field for a base hit. Juan made it to home plate. The score was 1- nil.

As the game progressed, so did the weather. It became hot to the point of being uncomfortable. The sun's beams poured down on the players relentlessly. Drops of sweat rolled down the campers and counselors foreheads and necks.

It was the top of the 9th. Juan's team lead three to nothing. It was two outs with one man on base. Lamar was at bad. He was 0 for 4. He had one last chance to redeem himself. Curt threw the first pitch, a curveball. It sailed past Lamar for a strike. Lamar swore under his breath and held his bat up again. Curt threw a fastball. Lamar hit a ground ball at second base. Ronnie caught it and threw it Lenny, who tagged Lamar for the final out. The game was over. Juan's team had won. Juan's team slapped each other high fives and then shook hands with Lamar's team. Lamar was upset that he lost, but nonetheless, he shook Juan's hand and said, "Good game, man."

"Goddamn, it's hot as a billy goat in a pepper patch," Mark as they walked up the trail to the mess hall.

"Here you go big man," said Shawn, tossing Mark a bottle of water.

"Thanks," said Mark taking a large swig.

"We should all take a swim today," said Curt, "seeing how hot it is."

"Definitely," said Mark.

After lunch, the counselors and campers went to get their swimming trunks and bathing suits. They then trekked down to Lake Larriwien.

"Oh my," said Lisa, nudging her friends as they saw Shawn and Lenny with their shirts off. Ronnie was busying eyeballing Mark. Mark's physique was easily the most impressive, with his brawny arms and broad chest. She turned away quickly though. She didn't want Mark to catch her looking at him as she went inside to change into her one piece bathing suit.

The Lake, with its cool water, was instant relief for the campers and counselors. They swam around with enthusiasm, shrieking and yelling nosily, splashing water in each other's faces. Shawn, who was on the deck swaggered at the tip.

"Listen all of you loyal subjects!" he said. "All of you are little minnows of the lake. And I'm the big bad shark of this lake, coming to e-"

Mark crept up behind him, lifted him over his shoulder and tossed him in the lake.

"There ain't any sharks in the lake you numb skull!" he cried. Every shrieked with laughter. Mark couldn't help but notice that Ronnie was laughing too. He then jumped into the lake and gave Shawn a playful noogie.

"I'm gonna get you back, Opie," said Shawn as Mark swam off. Mark responded by splashing water in Shawn's face. He saw that Ronnie was swimming far away from everyone else. Mark swam quickly toward her.

"Hey," he said when he was close enough.

"Hi," she muttered.

"You've been avoiding me all day, chili pepper," said Mark as they swam back toward the others, "is it my breath?"

Ronnie burst out laughing.

"Got ya to laugh at least," he said, smiling. Ronnie insides melted.

"We can talk later," she said, "in the meantime-" she splashed water in his eyes, "catch me if you can, big guy."

Mark smiled as he swam a few seconds after her. He'd get to explain things to her.


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

Night had fallen over the campsite. The night air was warm and breezy. Shawn skulked behind thick bushes, making sure nobody saw him. And just as soon as he made sure he was well hidden, a kid was running past him. Shawn quietly emerged from the bushes and crept up on the kid, stealth like and tapped him on the back.

"Gotcha!"

"Aw, man," said Micah as Shawn got out his walkie talkie.

"Bandit to Red Wolf, I got one, over," he said. "I'm coming to the base right now."

Shawn walked Micah over to his and Mark's "jail", a cabin that was unoccupied, where Terry, Vincent, and Sandra were waiting also.

"Nice job, Shawn, said Mark, slapping Shawn a high five, "let's go find some more of these fugitives."

They were playing manhunt, which was basically tag with its own twist. Mark, Shawn, Bret, and Curt were the hunters, while the campers were the fugitives. Once caught, the campers had to go to "jail" and couldn't re-enter the hunt, until a fugitive that wasn't caught freed them.

Mark and Shawn went their separate ways, Mark heading towards the baseball field and Shawn heading towards a path in the cabins. Shawn nearly twisted his ankle on some rocks. Mark heard him utter a few mild oaths and laughed to himself.

Up a few feet ahead, Mark could see Bret skulking behind a large oak tree. He caught site of Mark and mutely motioned that there were two fugitives on the field, one of them hiding by the benches. Mark radioed him in.

"Red Wolf to Hawkeye," he said, "try to keep them in your viewpoint, and when I give chase you intercept them, copy?"

"Roger that," said Bret.

Mark creeped, panther like upon the two fugitives, Lamar and Joey. They were looking opposite of where Mark was, about to go on the move. Mark pounced on them.

Mark caught Joey, but Lamar got away. Right on Cue, Bret came from out of nowhere and chased after Lamar. Lamar was a decent runner, but Bret was quicker. He tagged Lamar and brought him back to where Mark was.

When they got back to the jail base, Mark and Bret put Lamar and Joey with the other prisoners. Then Mark radioed in Curt.

"Red Wolf to Nord, what is your location?" he said.

There was a few seconds' pause where Mark could hear the tree branches moving softly in the breeze. Then Curt answered. "Nord to Red Wolf, I'm by the opening into the forest. I'm tracking a fugitive, over."

"Alright, I'm sending Hawkeye your way," said Mark, "I'm going to look for more fugitives."

He put the walkie talkie back into his hooded sweat shirt and jogged up the dirt path. There he saw Shawn re-emerging from behind a cabin, sweaty and huffing. His knee was scraped badly, and he had twigs and leaves all on him.

"Fell trying to catch Ronnie," he panted. "She got away."

"No shit," said Mark, observing Shawn, "let's look for the other fugitives. We have ten minutes left to get them all."

The both of them heard rustling coming from behind the bushes. Mark and Shawn narrowed their eyes to see what it is.

"It must be a fugitive," said Shawn, "go around so we can trap him or her."

Mark crept up on the bushes first. Then he froze in his tracks when he saw that it wasn't a camper.

"Shawn," he whispered, "there's two fucking black bear cubs in the bushes. That means the mother bear is lurking somewhere nearby. We have to call the hunt off."

"Fuck," said Shawn with concern on his face, "we gotta round up the campers."

He pulled out his walkie talkie.

"Bandit to Nord, we have a situation," he said as he and Mark walked up the dirt path, "call off the hunt. If Hawkeye is nearby, let him know, get the jailers."

They half ran, half walked to the jail base. The campers were there, chatting with each other. Curt and Bret were running toward them.

"What's the problem?" asked Curt.

"We spotted two bear cubs," said Mark, "we gotta find the other kids."

Mark turned to the kids and let them know the situation.

"I want you kids to stay close by us," he said. "If you see something, just do what we instruct you to do, understand?"

There was a murmur between the group.

"Good," said Mark, "let's go."

The wrestlers and campers scoured the campgrounds, the slighest sound made the campers jump. It took a while, but they found all the campers, safe and sound.

They headed to the Mess Hall. Kaitlyn and the other counselors were lounging around, playing Spades.

"Hey guys, you're earlier than expected," said Kaitlyn, "is everything okay?"

"We had to end the game," said Bret, "saw some bears and had to find the others. Everyone is safe and sound."

"Hey, Kaitlyn, I was wondering do either of you have any peroxide to clean this scrape?" said Shawn? I fell in the woods.

"Sure," said Kaitlyn, "Donna will get that cleaned up for you in a jiffy. In the meantime, what do you want to do with the campers?"

"Let them have some free time," said Curt. "Whatever they want."

"That's fine with us," said Lenny, "Play us in a game of Spades, Curt?"

"Sure, why not?" said Curt

The others sat at the table, some broke into chat and others pulled out board games. Ronnie went over to her usual spot. Mark looked for a piece of paper. He quickly found one, ripped it up and scribbled something on it. He then got out a game of Checkers and sat next across from Ronnie.

"Would you like to play Checkers?" he asked her, sliding the paper over to her.

She took the paper and read it underneath the table.

 _You and me at the lake again at midnight tonight?_

She nodded her head curtly and proceeded to make the first move.

The moon was full and flashing her radiance along the breezy campgrounds. Her reflection in Lake Larriwien cast an eerie glow. Ronnie and her cousins had dubbed themselves the Moonlight Prowlers during their nightly strolls years ago. They'd go around the campgrounds, exploring everything, returning to their bunks by almost dawn. She missed her cousins. She was an only child and they were the closest things to siblings she would ever have. They'd moved to California, leaving her alone and besides her parents no other kin. She told herself one day she would go visit them. She inhaled deeply, that fresh piney, earthy smell mixed with the smell of the lake tickling her olfactory senses. The wave of nostalgia hit her hard, as the cool breeze rippled through her hair.

"Reminiscing, are we?" said a deep, drawling voice from behind Ronnie, making her jump. Mark was leaning against a tree, his massive arms folded.

"Jesus, stop sneaking up on me," said Ronnie, "how long have you been standing there?"

"A good few minutes," said Mark, grinning. "I didn't mean to frighten you, darlin', I just didn't want to ruin your moment."

Ronnie took a step toward him.

"Mark, listen," she said, "I didn't mean to scare you off last night. I shouldn't have said I was in love with you. I'm really sorry."

"Ok," said Mark, "I'm just curious about one thing. Why are you sorry?"

"Because," said Ronnie, turning back to the lake.

"Because what?" asked Mark.

"Because you weren't supposed to know," said Ronnie, "at least not that soon. It's just the marijuana made me feel so giddy."

Mark's viridescent gaze met Ronnie's dark intense gaze.

"There's no need to be sorry about it, Ron," said Mark, "you told me what you felt. You should never hide how you feel. You told me you were in love with me. Well, what is it that you love about me?"

"Well, I find you desirable," said Ronnie, "You're everything a girl could ever want. Besides the fame, you love the arts and you're a gentle soul. Just like my father."

In the pale moonlight, Mark's cheeks turned slightly pink.

"Damn," he said, "I guess you get to have bragging rights. Not many people can make me blush, chili pepper."

"Do you feel the same way about me?" asked Ronnie, secretly afraid of what the answer might be.

There was a pregnant pause before Mark replied.

"Yes," he said finally, "I do. I usually keep my feelings to myself, but I have fallen for you. I don't know why, but I feel like you're the missing piece to my jigsaw puzzle. I mean I'm married, but Jodi just doesn't complete me. I feel you would."

He took his large hand and grabbed her smaller, but firm ones. They felt silky smooth.

"This is the beginning of great things between us," said Mark.

"I know," said Ronnie, "the best has yet to come. Until then, let's just hold hands and enjoy the scenery."


	12. Chapter 12

That Friday morning, the mail came for the campers. Everyone opened their mail, glad to hear from their loved ones back at home. Ronnie was disappointed when she hadn't received a letter. It was to be expected, her mom being on tour overseas, but it still was a bit dis -concerting. She at least hoped her father would send something, but he resided in London at the moment. She envied the look of happiness on everyone's face as they read their letters, some out loud. She felt the corner of her eyes moistening, but she quickly wiped it away, hoping nobody saw. Calmly, she pulled her notepad and began scribbling away, writing a poem entitled

 _The Letter that Never Came._

 _Letters, amazing how mere paragraphs_

 _on a piece of paper can hold such powerful_

 _sentiment for the reader_

 _Some letters have the value of relief,_

 _other letters the value of nostalgia_

 _I read letters for confirmation,_

 _confirmation that I am cared_

 _about, confirmation that I_

 _matter to someone, confirmation_

 _that I'm loved and adored_

 _Where is my letter? The letter_

 _with the warmth of maternal_

 _magic? Without my letter,_

 _I am a corpse, cold and dead_

 _I can't find my smile without_

 _my letter_

 _Most want fame, most want riches_

 _I just want to read my letter, the_

 _letter that never came_

She stared at the poem before closing the notepad and putting it back into her pocket. She sighed sadly and sat in her favorite spot for breakfast.

The four wrestlers made their way into the mess hall. The sight of Mark eased some of Ronnie's distress. She snuck out to see him almost everynight at the lake. They talked about the arts and spirituality mainly while they smoked marijuana. There was nothing like having a deep and meaningful conversation by the lake. Mark understood her in more ways than one.

As Mark sat across the table from her, she tried not to let it show on her face how pleased she was to see him. But Mark knew better. He smirked slightly as he helped himself to two muffins.

"I see everyone else with a letter," he said as he poured some orange juice, "where's yours?"

The flame of joy that Ronnie felt suddenly flickered out.

"I uh, didn't get one," said Ronnie, breaking off a piece of her muffin.

"Oh?" said Mark, "Sorry, chili pepper."

"Sorry?" said Ronnie, "you didn't do anything, it was my mom who didn't send the letter."

She hacked at her sausage links moodily. Mark knew not getting a letter upset her.

"Ron," he said quietly, "what's your relationship like with your mom?"

"Complicated," said Ronnie, "I love my mom to pieces, don't get me wrong, but there are some days when she can be a real bitch."

"What do you mean?" asked Mark.

"I don't know how to take her sometimes." said Ronnie, "somedays she was fun to be around and we did everything together. Then there were other days where I was the target of her brandy fueled fits. She'd accuse me of going in her liquor cabinet, or go off on me for something stupid like leaving my bookbag in the doorway. She and my father argued all of the time about her tendency to fly into senseless rages. He left because he was tired of the constant insanity and has been living in the UK every since. That poem you read up in the mountains, that was about the day my father left.

"Some days I want to leave too, but I know my mom would unravel. I'm all she has. Like I said, I love her, but it's confusing, her hugging me and saying she loves me, but then throwing things me saying I'm such a needy brat. I need stability."

It did not surprise Mark that Claudine Peyroux had a history of problems with anger. He remembered at a performance in Memphis when she went off on three people who had been heckling her in the crowd, even assaulting one with a glass bottle. She had later remarked that 'Petula Clark or Lesley Gore didn't have to put up with this bullshit'. She was one of the greatest jazz blues singer since Billie Holliday and commanded respect.

"Family is important, Ron," said Mark, "No matter how many times you bicker or fight with them, in your time of need, they will have your back. No matter what anyone says, people need family."

"Yes, you're right," said Ronnie, "I just wish she'd learn how to defeat her demons though."

After breakfast, Kaitlyn asked everyone to form a circle. The only sound that could be heard was the scraping of chairs as the campers and counselors scrambled to make a circle. As they sat down, Kaitlyn waited for the chatter to die down before speaking.

"Good morning everyone," she said, "There is two things that I would like to announce today. Next week is Independence Day. And we will be having a talent show and BBQ that day. For the next few days, we'll start making decorations for the stage. Any camper who wants to participate in the talent show, let any of the counselors know. We have sent invitations out to your parents and they will be driving up here to enjoy the festivities with us.

"The second announcement I wanted to make it that today, we will be camping outdoors. After lunch, we will be heading out to the woods. We will be preparing our dinner using the campfire. It should be fun tonight, are there any questions?

Everyone shook their heads.

"Great," said Kaitlyn, "just hang back for a few minutes, while the other counselors and I discuss today's regular schedule."

The campers whispered excitedly as Kaitlyn and the other counselors consulted each other. They were already talking about what they wanted to do for the talent show.

"I'm going to sing America the Beautiful," Lisa was heard saying, "It's family tradition, we do it every 4th of July during cookouts."

"Hey Paul," said Micah, "How about you, me and Terry do a reenactment of the Declaration of Independence?"

"Sure, man," said Paul, "with Terry, we can add a funny twist to it."

Ronnie already knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to perform the Star Spangled Banner, Jimi Hendrix style. She had a Fender Stratocaster similar to the one Jimi used at that Woodstock event, given to her by her father for her 14th birthday. The only problem was, it was sitting in her bedroom at her apartment. She couldn't tell her mother to send it; She was overseas. Maybe she could ask her neighbor to get it.

That morning, the campers headed to the gym to do some indoor rock climbing. The counselors helped the campers with putting on the equipment and made sure the harnesses were stable. It took some campers a few tries, attempting to climb the wall. Once they got the hang of it, they started racing each other to see who could climb to the top first. Mark, being the tallest of everyone, climbed the wall with effortless ease.

After lunch, everyone got ready for the outdoor camping experience. The counselors and the campers headed to the storage and gathered up sleeping bags, flash lights, and other things they would need for that night. Everyone was in high spirits as they trekked up the trail, singing Boom Chicka Boom, lead by Curt, their voices echoing throughout the woods.

They settled in a nice, spacious area with tall birch trees and a bunch of wild shrubs. The forest floor on which they stood was nice and soft, comfortable enough for them to sleep on.

"Smell that?" said Shawn, inhaling deeply. "That's the smell of sweet woodlands, my friends. A natural high!"

"Sure is," said Bret, "Nothing better than being under the influence of Mother Nature."

"Damn straight, my man," said Shawn, clapping Bret on the shoulder.

After everyone was settled, Kaitlyn asked the campers and counselors to form another circle. Mark stood by Ronnie, who flashed him a quick smile, which he returned with delight.

"Alright, we're going to play a game of I'm Going to A Picnic," said Kaitlyn, "I'm going to state I'm going to a picnic, and I'm bringing an item. Then the person to my right has to say the same thing and I'll decide whether you can come to the picnic. So listen carefully. I'm going to a picnic and I'm bringing kiwis. Now you try Lenny."

"I'm going to a picnic and I'm bringing lemonade," said Lenny.

"Great, you can come to the picnic." said Kaitlyn. "Micah?"

"I'm going to a picnic," said Micah, uncertainly, "and I'm bringing pancakes."

"I'm sorry, you can't come to the picnic Micah," said Kaitlyn. "Ellie?"

"I'm going to a picnic and I'm bringing salad," said Ellie confidently.

"Sorry, Ellie, you can't come to the picnic either," said Kaitlyn. "Mark?"

Mark, who'd played this game as kid, said, "I'm going to a picnic and I'm bringing marshmallows."

"Excellent Mark, you can come to the picnic," said Kaitlyn, "Ronnie?"

"I'm going to a picnic and I'm bringing ribs," said Ronnie

"Very good, Ronnie, you can come to the picnic too," said Kaitlyn

Some people got the game, while others were really confused. But as they listened to the ones who could got to go to the picnic, they finally caught on; You had to say an item that started with the same letter as your name.

"I'm going to a picnic," said Paul slowly, "and I'm bringing...pizza?"

"Great job, Paul," said Kaitlyn enthusiastically, "You can come to the picnic!"

Paul let out a big whoop, causing everyone to laugh.

Finally, Terry, who had yet to get it, said, "I'm going to a picnic and I'm bringing...um,"

"C'mon Terry, you can get it," said Donna encouragingly.

"What're you bringing, Terry?" said Derek, "think about it."

"I'm going to a picnic," said Terry, "and I'm bringing turkey sandwiches."

Everyone cheered as Kaitlyn said, "Nice, you can come to the picnic now."

After playing that game, they moved on to another game where Derek presented a blue hand ball. The object of the game was everyone had to catch the ball. The person who dropped the ball would be out of the game. It boiled down to Curt and Juan. The campers and counselors watched the back and forth duel between the too, which seemed to be going on forever.

Curt tossed the ball. It sailed like a bullet and Juan mishandled it and dropped it on the ground. Everyone clapped as Mark, Bret, and Shawn slapped him high five. Curt then went over to Juan and said, "nice battle, buddy."

The afternoon sailed past and the evening settled into the day. The lowering sun cast an intense red-orange glow all over the forest.

"Hey Mark," said Shawn, "think we oughta get dinner started?"

"Sure, man," said Mark, "We have the basics like hot dogs and burgers, but let's spruce it up. I got some extra things from Tony while we were getting the food. I was thinking we make some cowboy beans."

"Hell yes," said Shawn, "there's a water pump around here, I'll get some water."

"Hey guys," said Bret to the campers, "how about gathered up some wood. So we can get the fire going."

"Yes, sir," said Vincent going with Juan, Joey, and Lamar to pick up any twig, branch, or log they could gather.

When Shawn returned with the water and the boys returned with the water, Bret showed everyone how to create a fire using the sticks.

"You know how when you rub your hands together and you feel heat?" said Bret, "that's called friction, and it's crucial in starting a fire using sticks."

He rubbed the sticks togther rigorously. Everyone was crowding around him, eager to see Bret make fire. It took a while, but once smoke started issuing from the wood.

"Amazing," said Vincent as the stick became lit.

Once they got the fire going, Mark started cutting up stuff and chucking them in the Dutch oven, while Shawn and the others started making the burgers and hot dogs. Pretty soon, delicious smells were issuing from the Dutch Oven. Everyone's mouths were watering while they waited for the cowboy beans to be done, but it would be a while before the beans would be ready, so Derek decided to entertain the crowd by singing Acapella. He had an amazing voice. Curt and Lenny joined him in singing Frankie Valli's Under the Boardwalk.

When the food was finally ready, everyone lined up and made their plate. They ate with gusto, as if they never tasted anything more delicious in their life. Everyone came up to Mark and complimented him on how good the cowboy beans were. He gave a slightly flirtatious smile to Ronnie when she complimented him on it.

As night fell over the woods, the campers and counselors made s'mores and told stories. Lenny told a story about Cropsey, a crazy axe wielding maniac who stalked the campgrounds looking for people who wandered in the woods at night. All of the campers, except Ronnie looked uneasy. When it was time to say goodnight, people like Lisa could be heard saying to her friends, "That story wasn't true, was it?"

It was around 11 o'clock when people finally started falling asleep. The sound of crickets chirping, people snoring, and owls hooting kept Mark up. He laid on his back, staring up at the first quarter moon. Even through the trees, he could make out the Big Dipper. He wished someone was up with him, staring at the beautiful celestial sky. But some things you had to appreciate by your lonesome. There would be other chances.


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

For the next few days, the campers and counselors prepared for the talent show. They made cut outs of red, white, and blue rockets, fireworks, and a large banner drawn by Ronnie that had fireworks exploding over the Statue of Liberty. The wrestlers then went out to purchase dozens of Uncle Sam top hats, red, white and blue pin wheels, and miniature American flags. Then they went with Tony the cook to purchase the food they would be cooking for that day.

Everyone was feeling excited about the whole thing. The entertainment, the food, and the fact that their parents would be coming had everyone in high spirit.

"I can't wait," said Shawn gleefully while they trekked back to their cabin one night. "My favorite time of the year where we get to celebrate America's birthday. Can you think of anything better?"

"Yep," said Mark, "you shutting up."

Bret and Curt laughed.

"Careful, Mark," said Shawn raising his fist. "I'm swift with these fists."

Mark scoffed

"You wouldn't last a round with my grandmother," said Mark, "even if she had both hands tied behind her back."

"I am like Tyson, brotha," said Shawn with a poor attempt at shadow boxing.

"Cicely Tyson," Mark retorted

The four men weren't feeling sleepy at all, so they decided to kill some time. They spent majority of the night listening to music on the radio and playing poker for money. Shawn talked the most trash while they played, but he ended up losing two hundred dollars to Mark, who beat him with a straight flush.

After the poker game, they showered and went to bed. Mark was the only one up. He had Ronnie on his mind. The more he spent time with her at the lake, the more in love he was with her. They talked about their favorite things and discussed meeting each other in New York in the near future. Then, at three in the morning, they would head back to their cabins.

Mark picked up a pencil and piece of paper and began scribbling away. After he was finished, he read it over and smiled. Then, he kissed it, folded it, and tucked it away before heading off to bed.

The day everyone was waiting for finally came. The campers and the counselors spent the whole day decorating. The stage was adorn with patriotic buntings and patriotic honeycomb balls. The wrestlers decorated the benches with covers that had red, white, and blue stars on it. Then they gave everyone the hats, pinwheels, and little flags to wave around. Everyone was feeling the patriotic spirit.

It was a warm and sunny 84 degrees, the perfect weather for the fourth of July. The campers waited anxiously by the counselor's station for the arrival of their parents. Some of them made an attempt to straighten out their appearance so their mothers wouldn't fuss over it.

At long last, the bus containing their families pulled up. One by one, they got off the bus. The campers ran up to their families and hugged them tightly. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark could see Ronnie scanning through the crowd for her mother, Claudine. He was looking for her too. But he didn't see her. Her turned to state at Ronnie directly. Her face was impassive, but Mark could detect the despondency in her eyes.

The campers introduced their family members to the counselors, including the wrestlers. Their jaws nearly dropped when they saw them. The wrestlers took it all in stride, smiling and shaking their hands, even signing autographs.

The counselors and campers lead their families to an amphitheatre like enviroment. As they took their seats, many of them made comments about the decorations.

"You guys outdid yourselves," said Joey's mother. "I'm really impressed, who drew the Statue of Liberty banner?"

"Oh, that was Ronnie," said Joey, pointing over at her. "She's good at arts and stuff."

After everyone was seated, Kaitlyn and the other counselors got up on stage. As she grabbed the microphone, the feedback screeched through the P.A. system.

"Sorry about that," said Kaitlyn after she adjusted the microphone, "good evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Camp Vacamas, my name is Kaitlyn, and these are the other counselors, Derek, Donna, and Lenny. We have a great evening in store for you all. First, we're going to have a Fourth of July talent show where the campers will be performing. And then, we will be having an outdoor cookout, we're sure you'll love what's on the menu tonight. We hope you enjoy tonight's festivities, have a good evening everyone. The first performance is Lisa, Ellie, Sandra, and Marilyn with America the Beautiful. Let's give it up."

Everyone clapped as the four girls made their way to the stage. Their parents, smartly dressed folks, clapped loudly.

 _"O beautiful, for spacious guys, for amber waves of grain-"_

Kaitlyn walked up to Mark and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't see Ronnie anywhere," she said. "She is the fourth act. Do you mind looking for her? It's not really safe for her to wander off by herself."

"Sure, no problem," said Mark, "I'll be right back," he added to Bret, Curt, and Shawn before heading off.

Mark trekked up the trail, calling Ronnie's name, but she didn't seem to be in sight. Mark then headed to her cabin. She wasn't there. He checked the mess hall. She wasn't there either. Then it dawned on Mark where she could possibly be. He walked down the hill and headed to Lake Larriwien.

And sure enough, he found Ronnie sitting in her usual spot, her back to him. Her guitar lay in a case, resting on her knee. Mark walked up to her.

"Hello, Mark," said Ronnie without turning to face him. She sounded different, like she had come down with a bad flu.

"Everything alright?" asked Mark, silently cursing himself. He knew she wasn't alright.

"She didn't come," said Ronnie, "She's been touring for five months, I figured she'd be back by now."

Mark sat next to her. Still, he couldn't see her face, because her hair covered it.

"How come," Ronnie started, "when I need them the most, the people in my life are never there? Why do they always abandon me?"

Mark didn't answer. What the hell could he possibly say to her about that? He'd never been in that situation before. He'd grown up in a tight knit family.

Ronnie finally pushed her hair from her face. But she still wouldn't look at Mark. Mark worried for her.

"I wish I was dead, Mark." she said, boldly and plainly.

"Don't say that, darlin'" said Mark.

"I mean it," said Ronnie, "I wish I was dead. I wish I'd drop dead right now, and no one would miss me."

Suddenly, tears fell from her eyes like a free flowing river. Her breaths came out in harsh sobs.

"Everyone always leaves me," she said, shakily, "My grandmother, my cousins, my father, and I barely see my mom. She's never fucking there when I need her. And I have no friends. I act like I don't care if I don't have friends. I act like I don't care what they say about me. Well, I do care. They all think I'm crazy. I hear what they say about me. 'Psycho, 'loony bird', 'Ronnie the retard' I pretend they don't get to me, but they do. They hurt and make me feel less of myself. I wish my mother would have gotten an abortion with me."

What she was saying was breaking Mark's heart. He took Ronnie and wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight, stroking her hair.

"Now you listen to me," he said. "You stop talkin' that nonsense. You are a wonderful person that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. I think that you put on a tough front often to hide the fact that you're shy and want to make friends, but you don't know how. It's like you were saying before. The best way to get friends is to be yourself. It's easier to attract bees with honey than with vinegar, hon."

He took a handkerchief from his jeans pocket and used it to clean her face. Her eyelashes were so long. Even when she cried, she still was beautiful.

There was a moment. Ronnie's dark misty gaze met Mark's intense viridescent gaze. Then, their lips met each other for the first time. Mark could taste her raspberry lip balm. Ronnie wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders, loving his warmth and the scent of his Boucheron cologne. Nothing else mattered at that moment, not even the birds chirping merrily in the distance. All that mattered to Ronnie was Mark. Just Mark.

"I love you, Mark," she said in a low voice barely above a whisper. "I really do."

Mark smiled. Ronnie loved the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he did.

"I love you too, chili pepper," said Mark. "C'mon, we've got to get you back. Kaitlyn was worried."

The sky was a beautiful medley of pink, orange, and blue as the sun continued to lower. Mark and Ronnie walked back to the amphitheatre in silence. Nothing needed to be said. Everything they wanted to say had been said in the kiss.

"Good, there you are," said Kaitlyn, observing Ronnie's bloodshot eyes, "everything ok?"

"I just felt overwhelmed," said Ronnie, "I'm fine now."

"I'm glad to hear that, but please don't wander off without notifying someone," said Kaitlyn, "Get prepared, because you're next up on the stage."

Ronnie turned to Mark and said, "Thanks Mark, for cheering me up."

"Not a problem, kid," said Mark, "now go out there and break a leg."

Ronnie removed her Stratocaster from the case. She could see not only Mark, but the other wrestlers staring at it admiringly. She couldn't help but let a smirk creep upon her features.

"Great job, boys," said Kaitlyn, grinning. The audience was still laughing at Paul, Micah, and Terry's reenactment of the Declaration of Independence, "our next performance will be Ronnie doing Jimi Hendrix's rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Come on up here, Ronnie."

The audience clapped as Ronnie made her way to the stage. She plugged her guitar into the amplifier and walked toward the microphone.

"Good evening, everyone," she said, "bear with me."

She started fine tuning the guitar before going into the song.

As she played, Mark noticed a few people looking on in amazement. Even Bret, Curt and Shawn looked immensley impressed. It was as if the spirit of Jimi was being channeled into Ronnie and her guitar. She place with such accurate precision.

When Ronnie got to the "And the Home of the Brave." part, Shawn let little bottle rockets shoot off into the sky. The noise was deafening as everyone stood up, clapping and cheering (except Lisa and her friends). Mark timed the applause. 32 seconds.

"Wow, that was amazing, wasn't it?" said Kaitlyn. "Way to go Ronnie."

Ronnie said nothing. She was beaming from every orifice.

"That's going to be a tough act to follow," said Bret. The others agreed.

The next act up was Joey and Vincent singing Bruce Springsteen's 'Born in the USA'. They did a pretty decent job and got the crowd to clap with the beat. After that, it was Lenny singing on acoustic, 'This Land is Your Land'. The final act was Derek and Donna performing 'My Country Tis A Thee' together. All in all, the talent show was a success.

Everyone headed to the mess hall, where Tony the Cook had the food laid out on a large table. Along with the usual burgers and franks, there was BBQ chicken, ribs, beef shish-kabobs, potato salad, baked beans, potato chips, corn, and lemonade. There was also apple, cherry, and blueberry pies all made from scratch.

Everyone lined up to put food on their plates before sitting at the bench. They turned on some house music, which blasted loudly over the P.A. system. Ronnie Sat with Mark, Shawn, Bret and Curt.

"Your performance was stellar," said Shawn. "Jimi would have been proud."

"Thanks," said Ronnie, smiling, "I was pretty nervous on the stage."

"You could've fooled us," said Curt, "you didn't look nervous at all to me."

The sky was turning a deep inky purple. Everyone, ate, talked, laughed, dance, took pictures and sung. For the campers, it was one of the best Independence Days in memory.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

It was a day before the last day of camp. The campers would be headed back home and the wrestlers would be going home the next morning. It would be a bittersweet moment for everyone, but for now, they would end camp with a bang.

The day before the final day was a humid 96 degrees. The campers and counselors decided to have a water fight. Pitting the counselors vs the campers, they fought at the top of the hill, equipped with waterballoons and water pistols. An hour later, they were in the mess hall, sopping wet, but happy and cool. It didn't matter who had won the water fight, they all had a blast.

After that, the counselors and campers participated in making popsicles. While they waited for the popsicles to freeze, they got out a large slip n slide tarp. The kids were like shrieking 5 year old kids as they slide down the hill on the tarp.

After spending the rest of the afternoon swimming in Lake Larriwien, the campers and counselors had an outdoor, Luau style feast. Tony the Cook had went all out for the final diinner. He cooked steamed boneless chicken wrapped in taro leaves, fish filet that had a sweet flavor to it, wild rice and salad, and fresh cold fruit. Tony even made virgin pina colada in cups carved out of pineapple. Tony received a warm reception from the campers and counselors, as they praised him and thanked him for the great meals he cooked during their stay, promptly bringing a tear to his eyes and thanking them for their kind words.

After they finished eating, they participated in limbo. It was funny, watching people going as low as possible to get under the limbo stick and falling in the process. Shawn nearly threw his back out, but he managed to get under. After that, they got in a hula hoop contest. Mark felt silly attempting to keep the hoop moving, but he didn't care, he was having the time of his life. Donna ended up winning that.

When night time fell, they camped out in the baseball field, where the Northern Lights were said to be appearing. The campers and counselors waited with anticipation that night. And finally, the sky became ablaze with iridescence. Oohs and aahs rang through the baseball field as they witnessed the spectacular sky display. It was exhilirating.

 _The next morning..._

"Well, we've come to the end," said Kaitlyn after breakfast. "I just want to say it was a pleasure working with our special guest counselors, and an even bigger joy to work with you guys. I've been a counselor here for nearly 6 years, and this is the most fun I've ever had up here."

"It's been an honor," said Donna, "getting to know each and every one of you. I'll never forget you bunch and hopefully, we'll get to meet again down the road."

"And I just wanted to say it was an honor working with the counselors and campers of Vacamas," said Bret. "It's fun being in the ring and on the road, but it's nice to slow down and appreciate the little things in life. I really had fun with all of you, and I'm grateful to have met you all.

"And as a token of our appreciation," said Mark, "all of you are going home with a gift bag. You'll find some neat gifts like the Gameboy. I enjoyed hanging out with you guys and I'm hoping we get to do this all again in the near future. You guys are awesome."

"Yeah, I had the best time of my life up here," said Vincent.

"We definitely did," said Joey, "I wish we could stay forever."

"Thanks a lot, guys," said Lamar, "we're really going to miss all of you."

"We'll miss you too, buddy," said Lenny. "How about a group hug?"

Everyone got in a large circle and squeezed each other tightly, savoring the moment of comraderie amongst them.

"The bus will be arriving in 20 minutes," said Derek. "We can just chill out in the mean time."

While everyone lounged in the mess hall, chatting and joking around, Mark beckoned Ronnie outside. She followed him to a woodsy are that was obscured by trees, so that nobody would be able to see them. There was a silence between them, but not an awkward one.

"I uh, got you a few gifts," said Mark. "I don't want you to open them until you get home,"

He gave her a large neatly wrapped box. Ronnie looked at it in wonder.

"Thank you, Mark, that was sweet of you," she said, smiling. Mark's stomach twisted in knots.

"Not a problem, chili pepper," said Mark returning her smile. "I'm pretty sure you'll love them."

"So I guess this is goodbye, then?" asked Ronnie.

Mark shook his head.

"Goodbye means I'll never see you again," said Mark, "We'll see each other soon, I promise. In the mean time, I'd like to take your number."

Ronnie took a pen and paper from her jean jacket. She jotted down her number and handed it to Mark, who took it and saw the number, 555-1208, written in Ronnie's neat slanted handwriting.

"I'll be calling you," said Mark, stuffing it in his shirt pocket, "You take good care of yourself, Ron."

"You too," said Ronnie, "I'm really glad I got to meet you."

"Likewise," said Mark, grabbing her close to him and kissing her on the forehead. "I love you, Ronnie."

"I love you too," said Ronnie. She hugged him around his middle tightly.

"By the way," she added, "my birthday's August the 4th, I'll be expecting a birthday call. Or even better a gift."

Mark chuckled, patting her on the head.

"As you wish, darlin'" he said.

She walked back to the mess hall. She turned around midway and blew Mark a kiss. Mark caught it and placed it on his whiskered cheek. He smiled to himself and watched a cardinal fly from tree to tree, suddenly appreciating everything.


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

The bus ride back to New York was rowdy and rambunctious, all the campers looking forward to going home after being at camp for six weeks. Ronnie was the only one who didn't share their enthusiasm. Looking out the window as the bus drove up Route 3 in Clifton, Ronnie hoped that her mother would be home, but her hopes weren't too high. Even if Claudine was home, she'd probably be sleeping off a hangover and what not.

Before she knew it, the bus was in New York City parked in front of their high school. Parents were outside, ready to pick up their children and bring them home. A shot of jealousy burned through Ronnie's chest as she watched her fellow campers hug and kiss their relatives and got into their car. She turned a corner and started heading home.

She lived eleven minutes away from City As in a row house apartment in Greenwich Village, a city rich in its history of the arts and bohemian culture. It had been the haven of the famous Beats and 60s counterculture movement that her parents play a pivotal part of. It was the perfect place for Ronnie, although, deep down inside, New Jersey was really where she belonged.

She finally reached her apartment on Perry Street. There were four little girls writing on the sidewalk with colorful chalk. They all saw Ronnie and greeted her enthusiastically, which brought a slight smile to her face. She told them she would come join them later as she checked her mailbox and went inside.

Ronnie checked the mail to see if there was any indication that her mother was coming home, but there were just a bunch of post cards from her from every city she had toured in. She sighed sadly and went into her room, where she unpacked her clothing and threw them in her hamper. She then went into her dresser. She still had a bag of marijuana and quite a few LSD blotters in it. She took some marijuana, rolled it into a big fat joint and put it behind her ear.

Sitting on the tip of her bed, she sat there for a few moments in silence. She missed Vacamas already. She would never vocally admit it, but she had fun with the other campers. She felt nothing but gratitude toward Micah for showing her kindness. The next time she saw him, she definitely would get him a thank you gift.

Most of all, she was starting to miss Mark, and she'd only been gone from him for an hour. She longed to hear his rich baritone voice, and look into his soulful green eyes. She hoped that he would call, that way she would go to bed, happy.

Suddenly, she remembered the extra gift Mark gave her. She took it out of her duffle bag, and unwrapped it. It was Jayne Cortez's, _Unsubmissive Blues._ She had told Mark that she was a fan of Jayne's work and that she was trying to collect her whole series of writings. A strong rush of affection and gratitude swelled in Ronnie's heart as she opened the book. Out fell two pieces of paper. Ronnie picked up the first one and read it. She recognized the sloping handwriting as Mark's. It was a note.

 _This is the book you had wanted. I hope you find it enjoyable chili pepper xoxo- Mark_

Ronnie smiled as she picked up the second note. It was a poem Mark had written, which he had entitled _High Yellow Duchess._

 _Miss high yellow duchess,_

 _no gate nor butress_

 _can stop you from_

 _falling into my clutches_

 _I want you to bare your_

 _naked soul before me_

 _I'd mend you in ways_

 _you'll never forsee_

 _I'm the umbrella during_

 _your many storms, the_

 _honey to your bee_

 _Let me hold you in_

 _my arms and love_

 _you for all eternity_

 _Your skin so ripe_

 _your lips so luscious_

 _Be mine sweet_

 _High Yellow Duchess_

 _He is so sweet!_ thought Ronnie as she hugged the poem close to her heart. He made her feels so warm inside like oatmeal in the winter. She was going to go to bed with that poem right under her pillows, so that it would feel like he was there.

She read the poem a few more times before kissing it and setting it down. Then she lit the joint while she read some of Jayne Cortez's poems.

The four wrestlers drove to Newark Airport after the campers departed. They would be flying home to spend some much needed time with their families. Bret would be heading to Canada, Curt to Minnesota, and Shawn and Mark to Texas.

"God, this is the crappiest airport ever," muttered Shawn after getting into a row with one of the ticket agents about his flight. "I was about to belt that bastard with an uppercut."

"Not worth it, man," said Curt, stretching his long legs as they waited for the flight. "I'm just worried about getting home and spending some time with the kids.

"Yeah, me too," said Bret, "Dallas is in the Little Leagues. I want to help him improve his fastball."

"Hopefully, I'll find a note saying Theresa's left me for someone else," said Shawn, "but I know that bitch won't give me the satisfaction."

Mark said nothing, but just sat there, blowing bubbles with his chewing gum. He never discussed his private life at home. But he only looked forward to seeing Jodi half-heartedly. They said absence makes the heart grow fonder, maybe six weeks away from her would have done him some good.

 _Don't kid yourself you goddamn fool_ thought Mark to himself. He knew damn well that being away would not spark things in their marriage. Besides, he found wonder in Ronnie, who had been on his mind since they left Vacamas. For a moment, he pictured himself sitting at Lake Larriwien, Indian style, with Ronnie looking across at him, grinning both coyly and slyly, her long bang obscuring half of her pretty face.

"Mark!" barked Shawn, bringing Mark back to reality. "What the hell are you smiling about over there?"

"Oh, I was just picturing you as a slinky," said Mark, "the thought of pushing you down the stairs brought me a moment of joy."

"Real cute," said Shawn as Bret and Curt laughed.

Their flights finally arrived. The four men exchanged handshakes with each other before getting on their respective planes. As Mark and Shawn headed toward the runway, Shawn said to Mark, "As much as I enjoyed being with the kids, six weeks without seeing any bare titties or asses has my cock going stir crazy."

"Thank you, Shawn," said Mark. "I was dying to know that."

"Sorry, man," said Shawn laughing, "I need some tail so badly."

"Well, you're going home to your wife," said Mark, "make the best of the situation."

"I was thinking we'd get plastered at a titty bar or something," said Shawn.

"Nah, man, I'll take a rain check," said Mark, "I promised Jodi I would spend the day with her. I don't go back on what I say, even if I am a dog."

"Alright," said Shawn, "But my birthday's in a few days, and I want to see more ass than a donkey ranch. So surprise me with some dames and booze."

Mark laughed.

"Whatever you say, Shawn," he said.

 _A few hours later..._

Mark's black '69 Judge pulled into the driveway of his home, a Mediterranean style ranch with a beautiful view of Joe Pool Lake stretching miles beyond. He stepped out of the car and inhaled the earthy Texas air before heading inside his house.

No sooner had he set the keys on the counter, did Mark's bull mastiff, Rolf run up to Mark, barking happily and wagging its tail, glad to see his master back.

"Hey boy," said Mark, kneeling down and scratching Rolf behind the ears. "Did you miss me, boy?"

"Yes he did," said a female's drawling voice from behind Mark, "but not as much as I've missed you."

Mark spun around. Standing in the doorway was Jodi, grinning broadly.

"Hey, dear," said Mark, as he walked up to her and lifted all five feet of her up, kissing her deeply.

"It's so good to see you, honey," said Jodi, rubbing her nose against his affectionately "How was it at the camp with the kids?"

"We'll talk about it later," said Mark, "right now, all I'm worried about is spending the next two days making you happy. So, right now, I want you to get dressed and look pretty, we're going to go into town."

It would be a while before she would be ready, so Mark went into the kitchen, where he went into the fridge and got him a nice cold bottle of Shiner Premium. Then, he headed to his den, where his taste was impeccably apparent, the walls adorn with surrealist art. By the marble fireplace was an upright piano that Mark liked to play for Jodi whenever he was feeling romantic. There was an old vinyl record player complete with hundreds of albums ranging from jazz to modern rock. Mark searched through his collection for a few minutes, until he found what he was looking for; Claudine Peyroux's _Cane River Blues_ one of his most favorite albums. He put it on and sat in his favorite recliner chair.

Claudine's orotund soprano voice sent powerful chills throughout Mark's body as she sang _The Nightingale's Lament._ Her pain seeped through the words and into the saxophone. It was 90 degrees, but Mark had goosebumps covering his arms.

 _"Lord knows I've shed enough tears to cause a deluge..."_

 _Amazing,_ thought Mark as he sipped his beer. _There is no word great enough to describe this woman's singing abilities. No one can emulate her._

As the album played, Mark's mind wandered on to Ronnie, who was now miles away. Mark longed to call her, but not with Jodi in the other room. He so wanted to hear her soft, smokey voice and see her pretty smile. Was he becoming love sick over her?

"Mark," said Jodi's voice, jolting Mark out of his stupor, "I'm ready, dear."

Mark stood up and looked at her. She was wearing a pretty casual summer dress that showed off her curvy figure. Her thick auburn hair hung to the middle of her back. She was wearing that perfume Mark loved; White Diamonds.

"You look beautiful," said Mark, truthfully.

"Thank you," said Jodi, beaming, "So, what're we doing?"

"Anything you want to do, my dear," said Mark, taking her by the hand. "Let's go."

As he walked Jodi to the car, he couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed that Jodi interrupted him. But he put it in the back of his mind. There would be other times where he would be free to think about Ronnie. Right now he just had to get through the next two days, doing something he was totally uninterested in.


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

August was on life support, and September was getting ready to pull the plug on it. A lot had been going on in the short space of time. Immediately after returning from Camp Vacamas, Mark had resumed his feud with the Ultimate Warrior, one of the WWF's top draws in the company. While Mark was already gaining momentum in his career, it was about to go full speed. He was going to get a push through the moon and poised for a WWF Championship soon. Everything was looking up at the moment.

It was the last Sunday of August. The WWF wrestlers would be heading to Albany, New York, to perform a house show. That afternoon, Mark would be concluding his feud with the Ultimate Warrior in a casket match, a specialty match of the Undertaker's, where one opponent had to roll another opponent into a casket to win the match. Although Mark was looking forward to putting on a great match for the crowd, he was looking forward even more, to see Ronnie.

It had been a whole month since the he, Shawn, Bret, and Curt departed Camp Vacamas. Every night, after a show, he would talk to Ronnie for hours. Even if the topic was irrelevant, he enjoyed the conversation immensley. Just listening to her speak made the conversation stimulating.

Ronnie had such a profound effect on Mark, that he stopped partying all night and going to strip joints with Shawn. Although Shawn was bewildered by the sudden change, nonetheless, he respected Mark's decisions, though he thought Mark was making an effort to committ to Jodi.

It was overcast and raining heavily as Mark drove up 1-87. His back and knees were protesting in agony from his match with the Ultimate Warrior, which he'd lost. But none of that mattered. Ronnie was in Greenwich Village, waiting for him, and that alone, was worth the pain, and the drive. Despite the cold and wet rain, Mark felt warm and fuzzy.

After two grueling hours and a little over 30 minutes, Mark's rental finally pulled up to a bunch of brownstone town houses. He looked for number 75. When he found it, he turned the car off and walked up the stairs. Without hesitation, he rung the doorbell. While he waited for Ronnie to answer, he hummed tunelessly to himself.

He didn't have to wait long. Ronnie answered the door, smiling like he'd never seen her smile before.

It seemed that she'd added a couple more inches to her already svelte frame since the last time Mark saw her. Also, she'd ditched her beautiful locks for a pixie haircut, but this enhanced her beauty. Mark thought that she could wear her hair in any style, and it still would fit her. She could be as bald as Telly Savalas, and she'd still be beautiful.

"Hey, you," said Mark, grinning, "miss me?"

"Like a moron misses the point," said Ronnie. "C'mon, let's get you out of this rain."

She opened the door a little wider, so Mark could get in. Mark followed her inside.

With Claudine Peyroux being Ronnie's mother, Mark knew that her house would be interesting. He wasn't disappointed; The commodious living room looked warm and inviting, with its rich earth tones of cream and gold that blended magnificently with the brown carpet. Paintings created by black visual artists hung on the wall, along with pictures of Claudine with Esteban and Ronnie together. A grand piano sat by the window, though it was gathering up dust a little. Mark was beyond impressed.

"Like it?" said Ronnie, who was watching Mark from a few feet.

"Like?" said Mark, examining a ceramic pilgrim bottle, "I love it! This is the most interesting house I've ever been in. Is this authentic Egyptian pottery?"

"Sure is," said Ronnie, "My mom and dad went to Egypt in '72 and the pilgrim bottle along with the vase and vessel, were given to them as gifts for their humanitarian work. They often said that was their proudest moment."

"I bet," said Mark, taking off his leather jacket and hanging it up. "So, what's been going on with you chili pepper? What have you been doing since you left Vacamas?"

"Well," said Ronnie, "I've been pretty busy, actually. I recently started volunteering at a shelter, you know providing them meals and entertainment. There are little ones there too, so I usually bring books to read to them, they love it. I just want to give them the feeling that somebody cares, you know?"

"That's a wonderful thing you're doing for them," said Mark, smiling. "I'll be in New York until Thursday, I'd like to stop by and see the place. We can have a pizza party."

Ronnie's eyes lit up.

"Oh my God, you would do that for them, Mark?" she said. "They would absolutely love that. You're so sweet."

She walked toward him, wrapping her arms around his middle. She looked into his mesmerizing green eyes and stroked his bright red hair.

"I've really missed you," she said. "My mom still hasn't come back from touring yet. Your phone calls really got me through the nights."

"Glad to oblige, darlin'", drawled Mark. "My lips feel a little lonely right now, why don't you come and keep them company?"

Ronnie and Mark kissed, their tongues engaged in an intense wrestling match. Mark actually lifted Ronnie up in the air, caught up in the intensity of the kiss.

"Are you hungry?" asked Ronnie after they pulled apart.

"Now that you mention it, I could eat," said Mark, "didn't have lunch today. The arena food was terrible."

"Well, you're in luck," said Ronnie. "I cooked a big Creole style dinner last night. I certainly can't eat all of it by myself."

She beckoned Mark to follow her into the kitchen, where he sat at the counter while Ronnie started pulling out pots and plates.

A while later Ronnie put a large tray of food in front of Mark, who's jaw dropped in amazement. There was jambalaya, gumbo, boiled crayfish, red beans and rice, and collard greens with ham hocks.

"Goddamn!" exclaimed Mark. "This is enough to feed Cox's army!"

Ronnie grinned.

"Well, I noticed those times we went swimming," she started, "when you had your shirt off, you have a little belly. I can tell you enjoy a pint of beer every now and then, but you also love food. The quickest way to a man's heart is his stomach, right?"

"That's true," said Mark, "but you don't need to win my heart, chili pepper, you already have it."

"I know," said Ronnie, "but I want to keep it. _Manjé, mô shou."_

"I didn't know you spoke Creole," said Mark, "What did you say?"

"I said, eat, sweetie," said Ronnie, "and you never asked if I spoke it."

The food was so good that Mark didn't speak at all through the whole meal, only pausing to pat his belly in appreciation. Ronnie watched him eat, a smile on his face. He made her feel so appreciated.

After Mark scraped the tray clean, he slumped over in his chair. His jeans suddenly felt three sizes too small, and his stomach felt like it was going to explode.

"Best meal I've ever had," he said. "Thanks, Ron,"

"Anytime," said Ronnie, "Nothing like a rich hearty meal on a rainy day like this."

"Agreed," said Mark. "So, after I recover from this food coma, what would you like to do?"

"Well, I'd like for you to see my music library," said Ronnie, "I have a lot of vinyl albums, just pick whatever you want to listen to while we drop acid."

Mark lifted his head to look at Ronnie.

"Acid?"

"I have pot too," said Ronnie, quickly, "we can just smoke pot if acid's not your thing."

"Wow, I haven't dropped acid since college," said Mark, "I'm down for it. Just give me a few minutes."

After the feeling of lethargy erroded, Mark got up and walked up the hallway. Since the first door on the right was open, Mark went in, where he found Ronnie going through her crates of albums. Her walls were covered with her creations, ranging from originals, to portraits of musicians like Jimi Hendrix and Michael Jackson.

"Interesting paintings," said Mark, "think by any chance you can paint something with me during my stay here?"

Ronnie suddenly looked akward.

"Well, I could," she said, "but there's this ritual I practice while painting."

"Ritual?" Mark repeated, laughing, "what kind of ritual?"

Ronnie's face turned bright red.

"I...uh, I have to be naked when I paint," she answered. Her face turned another shade of red.

"That's interesting," said Mark, and Ronnie was relieved to see he wasn't laughing at her, "may I ask the reasoning behind it?"

"I find clothes to be restricting, honestly," said Ronnie, "I need to feel free so my mind will feel free. And when that happens, I know what message I want to send in my paintings and how to convey it. So when I'm naked, I feel free, like I could do anything. Dig?"

"Yeah," said Mark, amazed at this girl, "I dig."

Ronnie laid some albums out on her bed for Mark to see.

"Holy shit," he said, picking up one album. "All these bands I grew up listening to. Jefferson Airplane, The Animals, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, the Beatles, The Doors...all of these 60s rock bands. Hard to choose which one."

After mulling it over for a few minutes, Mark said, "You know, since it's raining cats and dogs, we can listen to L.A. Woman."

"Great choice," said Ronnie. She picked up the Doors' L.A. Woman album and put it on the record player.

"And now," she said, handing Mark an LSD blotter, "we go on a mind-altering journey."

The both of them put the blotters under their tongue as The Changeling began to play. Wherever the trip was ready to take them, they were ready.


	17. Chapter 17

The room seemed to lose the perceptive vivrance . Mark glanced at Ronnie, who was slumped against the couch, her eyes slowly going back to normal. He glanced at his watch. It was three a.m. He could catch a few hours of sleep before waking up around 8, but he felt so refreshed and energized.

The trip had been really pleasant. Everything had become so amplified, that nothing went unnoticed. Mark and Ronnie seemed ultra focused on the paintings on the walls. They noticed every intricate detail, every slight flaw. And the Doors' music just made it more better. They listened with intense clarity.

Mark let out a long and hefty stretch before heading to the kitchen. He went into the refrigerator and poured two glasses of iced tea. He took one glass, while handing the other one to Ronnie, who straightened herself up.

"How was it?" asked Mark as he watched her gulp down the iced tea as if she had been thirsty for a century.

"Groovy, man," said Ronnie, sounding like a 60s relic. "I never get tired of traveling inside my own head. It's amazing isn't it? How one little blotter can unlock so many dimensions of our mind we never new existed."

"You know, it's a real turn on when you talk like that," said Mark.

"Yeah?" asked Ronnie, smiling in a kittenish matter

"Yes, it is, chili pepper," said Mark, lifting her off the floor and pulling her into a hug, "I love how you speak with such eloquence."

He stroked her hair affectionately. It has a pleasant citrusy smell to it, which he sure was her shampoo.

"How about lightning up a joint, eh?" he said, "put on a jazz record or whatever?"

"Sure," said Ronnie, "Any genre of jazz you prefer?"

"I really have an affinity for bebop," said Mark.

"You got it, big fella," said Ronnie. She half walked, half ran to her room. She returned with a fat joint and a Charlie Parker album.

"Ah," said Mark, "the Bird and Diz."

He put the album on the record player while Ronnie lit up the joint.

"Y'know, the Beat poets were highly influenced by the bebop genre," said Mark, sitting on the couch,"their spoken word poetry mirrored the dialogue and rhythms."

"That's right," said Ronnie, as she passed the joint to Mark, "some of them even invited jazz musicians to perform for them while they recited their poetry. It influenced the 60s counterculture movement too."

They sat silently for a while, listening to My Melancholy Baby. Both of them recognized Monk's mellifluous tinklings on the piano in the beginning. The marijuana smoke made them feel relaxed and calm, like they were riding on the music notes themselves.

"Hey Ron?" said Mark after a bit.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me," said Mark, "What do you want too do with your life? I know you said the arts are your destiny, but what else are you planning to do?"

Ronnie took a generous toke of the joint before answering.

"Well, next month I start school," she said. "It's my final year of high school. I'm planning on going to Howard University once I graduate from City As. I'll be the first in my family to attend college."

"That's great, honey," said Mark, taking the joint from Ronnie, "what field are you looking to study?"

"I don't know, I'm kinda weighing out my options," said Ronnie. "It's a hydra headed task, but I was thinking of majoring in either Fine Arts, Political Science or African Studies. I have all year to cross the bridge when I come to it."

Well, whatever you decide to do, I'm sure you'll excel," said Mark.

"Thanks," said Ronnie, smiling faintly, "I also think I'm going to follow a musical career like my parents. I was thinking of blending zydeco with Afro-Cuban jazz, you know, so I can pay homage to both of them. So many things I want to do."

"I wish you luck in whatever you decide to do, baby girl," said Mark, "I'll support you regardless."

He wrapped his massive arm around Ronnie and brought her closer to him. She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her head on his large chest. He felt good, smelt good. It was only a matter of time...

Mark watched the matches on the monitor with Bill, sweating profusely. It was a blazing 80 degrees in New York City and he still had to wear the long wooly undercoat along with the Stetson Hat and gloves. He would be glad when the pay per-view was over.

It was WWF Summerslam, one of the four major WWF pay per-view events happening. And it was happening at one of the most famous arenas, Madison Square Garden, where dreams were made of. Although he wouldn't be wrestling a match, he still had a segment to do.

The segment involved The Undertaker and his mentor, the darky charismatic Jake "The Snake" Roberts crashing the wedding of Macho Man Randy Savage and his beautiful wife, Miss Elizabeth. It was a last minute thing as the original plan was for Jake to feud with The Ultimate Warrior after feuding with the Undertaker, but there had been an incident in which Jim Hellwig, the man behind the Ultimate Warrior character, threatened to no show the event over a money dispute, so Vince had to do some last minute changes. The thought of it sent waves of anger crashing through Mark. What a selfish unprofessional asshole Hellwig was. When was he going to realize everything wasn't about him?

Meanwhile, Bret had beat Curt for the Intercontinental Championship after a tough, nearly 20 minute match. It would be Bret's first major title win, as a singles competitor and Mark was so happy for him. He had hugged Bret tightly after he'd came backstage and hugged Curt too for his effort.

The segment went smoothly. Big Macho Man, adorn in his usual flamboyant attire, this one of white and gold, unwrapping gifts with his radiant bride, Elizabeth. When The Undertaker heard her blood curdling scream, he knew she had opened the box with the cobra inside. That's when he blind sided Macho Man with a vicious blow to the head with his mystical urn, while Jake taunted Elizabeth with the cobra. Fellow wrestler, Sid Justice chased them off. Jake kicked over a table on their way out. It would be the beginning of a Jake - Macho Man feud.

After the segment was over, Mark immediately hopped out of his attire and into the shower. He hated feeling sticky and sweaty. He showered and shampooed until he was smelling sweet like a rose. After he dried off, he sprayed himself with Boucheron and brushed his red mane. He slipped on a black Gold's gym tank top, grey sweat pants, and Reebok high tops. On his way out the arena, Shawn caught up with him.

"Hey, Big guy," said Shawn, with a playful punch to Mark's large arm. "What's up for tonight, feel like scoring some tail tonight my man?"

"Nah," said Mark, "I've already got plans."

"Hey," said Shawn, allowing a frown to wrinkle his pretty features, "what's been up with you, Mark? You never turn down booze or women, what's been going on with you? Is it me?"

"What?" said Mark. "No, it's not you, man. It's nothing to do with you. I just feel like taking a break from that lifestyle for a bit is all."

"Well, one can respect that," said Shawn, "but the minute you're ready to party man, call me."

"You know that," said Mark. He slapped Shawn a high five before leaving.

Mark drove back to Greenwich Village. It was such a nice evening. He wanted to take Ronnie out, but he'd have to wait til all the wrestlers left New York.

"Say, chili pepper," said Mark as he sat down in Ronnie's kitchen as Ronnie made coffee. "What do you say we go out tomorrow? Show me some of the nice hang outs, huh?"

"Oh, no problem," said Ronnie, "Would you like to do the pizza party for the shelter tomorrow? That way we can spend the whole day together."

"Beautiful," said Mark, "so, what did you do today?"

"Well, I completed two paintings today," said Ronnie, pouring coffee in a mug, "how do you take your coffee?"

"Like you," said Mark, smirking slightly, "Sweet with cream."

Ronnie laughed, blushing furiously.

"God," said Mark, "you're such a pretty girl,"

Ronnie handed Mark his coffee, blushing more than Mark thought possible.

"Thanks," she said.

"Welcome," said Mark, his voice a pitch lower. "So, can I see these paintings of yours?"

Ronnie took Mark to her room. One painting was still on the canvas, while the other was on the wall. Mark's eyes were fixated on the one of the canvas. It was of a young, handsome man, inside a display case, being admired by onlookers. He seemed cold and indifferent to the crowd, even though he was looking right at them.

"Very interesting," said Mark, "what do you call this piece?"

"Morrison," said Ronnie simply, "I like to study him. I always wanted to know what was going on in his head. Well, I've tried to put his thoughts on the canvas. I think Jim felt alienated from those around him. His increasing fame, his rock god image, it took its toll on him. His antics were all a cry for help that steadily went ignored. He hated that people just thought of him as some pretty boy, he wanted to be remembered for more than that. Very few people understood the real Jim Morrison."

"You really put some thought into it," said Mark, "What about this one right here on the wall?"

"It's a young maiden sitting under a cherry tree," said Ronnie. "You see, cherries in Greek mythology are a symbol of fertility. The cherries in this tree are firm...ripe...sweet. The girl's just waiting for a fella to come along and pick her cherry. You know what I mean?"

Mark suddenly felt light headed. Probably had something to do with the fact that the blood had left his brain and moved to his midriff.

"Is this is your attempt at trying to seduce me?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Ronnie laughed.

"Seduce?" she said inching closer toward him. "No, no, no, honey, white women seduce. I'm trying to put it on you, big boy."

She sounded eerily like Claudine at that moment, arousing Mark even more. Suddenly, he was aware that maybe wearing sweatpants at that moment wasn't a wise idea.

"So," said Ronnie, boring into Mark's eyes, her voice a sultry whisper, "are you going to pick my cherry tonight, Mark?"

Mark's heart beat started to accelerate. He wanted to take her, _goddamn_ he wanted to take her! The tingling in his groin has progressed to a painful throb.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" asked Mark, his voice deeper with lust. "You don't want to find the right guy or at least wait till you're 18?"

Ronnie walked over to the record player.

"I don't need to find the right guy," said Ronnie. "You _are_ him. Furthermore, the age of consent in New York is 17. Now step pretending you want to take it slow and come claim your prize.

She turned on the record player. The Doors started to play as Mark scooped up Ronnie and initiated a deep passionate kiss with her.

 _Take a highway to the end of the night...end of the night...end of the night_

Mark lay Ronnie on her bed, kissing the nape of her neck. Ronnie shivered with anticipation as Mark removed her shirt, revealing a black bra that barely concealed her round, ample breasts, which were begging for release. Mark obliged, relieving her of her bra and removing his own tank top.

 _Take a journey to the bright midnight..end of the night...end of the night.._

He gave Ronnie's breasts a few tender squeezes. They were so soft to the touch with her brown nipples standing at attention. Mark rasped hungrily at them, whisking them with his hot tongue, suckling them like a newborn baby.

 _Realms of bliss, realms of light...some are born to sweet delight..._

Ronnie allowed a slight moan to escape her lips as Mark kissed her from her sternum down to her flat belly. Finally, he came to it; The Garden of Eden where the Forbidden Fruit was hidden underneath her shorts. Ronnie looked into Mark's eyes, which had turned a darker shade of green with lust. She smiled encouragingly, urging Mark to pull her shorts and panties past her hips. Mark looked down at the bed of neatly trimmed pubes glistening with her excitement. He lifted both of her long smooth legs and pushed them to her shoulders so she couldn't get away. He plunged his tongue into her tight wet womanhood, tasting her Forbidden Fruit. Ronnie cried out, pushing Mark's head further in as his tongue hit the sensitive little bud , her body overcome with spasms, while Mark continued to lick and kiss her Forbidden Fruit

Just as she was reveling in bliss, Mark stopped. Wagging his fingers at Ronnie as she whined in protest, he stood up. His hard on was pulsating painfully. He finally relieved his cock of his cotton confines.

 _Some are born to sweet delight..some are born to the endless night.._

 _End of the night...end of the night...end of the night...end of the night..._

Ronnie stared at Mark hungrily, taking all of him in. Muscles ripped across his broad chest and down his arms, belly, and thighs. His ivory skin was glistening with perspiration, and he was hard as frozen steel. He crept down and slithered, serpentine like between her long legs, until his bare chest brushed against her breast. She opened them wider and wrapped them around his broad back as he pressed his cock against her opening. He had been wanting this for so long. He eased himself inside her, hearing the sharp intake of breath from Ronnie before he broke into rhythmic but powerful thrusts. A series of ecstatic cries and moans escaped Ronnie as Mark pumped away, her nails digging deep into his back. Her velvety tightness felt so good, so goddamn good! Mark groaned loudly as quickened the pace a little, biting and sucking her soft flesh.

 _Realms of bliss, realms of light! Some are born to sweet delight...some are born to sweet delight...some are born to the endless night!_

The harder Mark rode Ronnie, the louder Ronnie's moans became. He covered her mouth with his own in a attempt to slightly muffle her. Hips slapping against hips echoed through the room. His onslaught had Ronnie reeling.

And then Ronnie came, the frenzy of simultaneous explosions hitting her all at once. It was so intense, she thought her heart would stop. A split second later, Mark groaned in blissful agony as he spilled his hot white eruption in her, spewing so much, that he didn't think his testes would be able to produce anymore. He fell on top of Ronnie, their tongues tussling with each other. He wiped innocent blood from the tip of his penis.

"I love you," he said, his voice hoarse.

"I love you too," said Ronnie, breathlessly. Mark stroked her hair lovingly and lay beside her, resting his head on her breasts.

 _End of the night...end of the night...end of the night...end of the night..._


	18. Chapter 18

It was semi-dark in the room, with only the break of dawn from the windows being the source of light. It was dead silent, except for the ocassional beep from the smoke detector. Ronnie's eyes fluttered open as if someone had said her name. Soft, rythmic thumping told her that her head lay on Mark's chest. She smiled to herself, loving the confirmation of his presence, the hard warmth of his body. She snuggled closer under the covers to him, wrapping her legs around his. He was snoring, but that did not bother her in the slightest. She wanted to lay in bed with him for all eternity, never letting go of him.

They'd made love four more times after the first time, each time better than the previous. Ronnie was a quick learner, rolling her hips and arching her back to accomodate Mark, and quickly discovering Mark's sensuous spots. Mark even let her get on top of him a few times. Of all the women he went to bed with, including Jodi, Ronnie was by far the best. He'd never had one so young, so it felt like he was branching out into uncharted territory. He wanted to explore every region of her body. She was thin but in a gracile, well nourished manner. Just everything about Ronnie was perfect to Mark, including a small brown birthmark on her buttocks, which Mark pressed his lips against repetitively.

Ronnie loved how Mark was attentive to her and made her feel special. His slightest touch, made her melt like ice cream in the summer. She was one to strictly follow her gut instinct, and it was telling her she'd made the right choice in giving her virginity to Mark. Sure, she was a little sore, but what was pleasure without feeling a little pain?

She lay on him for a while, playing with his chest hair. Before she knew it, sunlight poured all into her room. She glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside dresser. It was 6:50. Reluctantly, she raised her head off of Mark and nudged him a few times.

"Mark...Marrrrrrrrrrkkkkk," she said in a sing song voice, "time to wake up big guy."

Mark groaned as he slowly opened his eyes .

"Damn, is it morning already?" he asked.

"Uh huh," said Ronnie, nuzzling Mark's ear affectionately, "get up, we'll go out for breakfast."

"Do I have to get up?" asked Mark, closing his eyes again.

"Yes, you do," said Ronnie, "If I have to so do you."

"Give me some sugar, I'll think about it," said Mark.

Ronnie planted a kiss on Mark's lips. Mark returned it with interest.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Yep," said Mark, sitting up, "Alright, chili pepper, I'm up."

As Mark got up to go to the bathroom, Ronnie whistled and said, "cute butt."

By 7:30, both were showered and dressed. Ronnie gathered up books and some music tapes before they headed out. The crisp, pre-autumn air caressed their faces briefly as they got into Mark's rental.

"Feels good to be in a car," said Ronnie, stretching out her long legs. "I mean, I have no problem walking, but God, it's a bit wearing."

"Must suck in colder weather," said Mark, as he turned on the radio. Mr. Mister was playing.

"Not really," said Ronnie, "Believe it or not, I enjoy cold weather. It's so beautiful, when you're strolling through the park during a snowfall. Something magical about that, like a fairytale. Cold air is like a stimulant for me, it makes me feel so alive."

"You're in the minority there, sweetie," said Mark, chuckling. "I'm from Texas, I can't _stand_ cold weather."

"Big tough Undertaker," said Ronnie, smirking, "Impervious to pain in the ring, but can't handle a little nippy weather. Maybe I should tell your opponents to just turn up the air conditioners at ring side."

"That's the first time you've ever acknowledged me as the Undertaker," said Mark, stopping at a red light.

Ronnie looked at him thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I guess it is," she said, "I guess after spending six weeks with you at the camp, I stopped seeing you as the Undertaker, and started seeing you as Mark."

"Have you ever been into wrestling?" asked Mark.

"Used to be," said Ronnie, "whenever I went over my cousins' house, we used to watch Saturday Night Main Event all of the time. I loved Jesse the Body and Roddy Piper. I still catch it every now and then, but not as enthusiastic about it. Were you ever into wrestling before you became a wrestler?"

"When I was younger," said Mark making a right, "I used to go with my brothers and dad to the Sportatorium. Man, we idolized the Von Erichs. I was 17 when the Von Erichs fought the Freebirds. Man, one of the most amazing matches I'd ever witnessed. Who'd have ever thought I'd be wrestling in that same arena, two years later?"

"Did you win your first match?" asked Ronnie.

Mark snorted.

"I got the shit kicked out of me a hundred different ways," he said. "I was a dumb kid back then. Me thinking I was big and strong, I could thrash my opponent. Big mistake. My opponent was a seasoned veteran and legit brawler. Man, was I glad when the final bell rang. The next morning, I could barely get out of bed."

"At the time," said Ronnie, "did you feel like it was worth it, dropping out of college and all?"

"Of course," said Mark, "Sometimes you have to suffer and taste failure before you succeed. I never gave up and it paid off."

"That's the spirit," said Ronnie, "never throwing in the towel, even when you want to the most."

After a quick breakfast at McDonald's, Mark and Ronnie drove to SoHo, where the shelter was located. It was a plain, two storied beige bricked building that lied between a church and a used furniture store.

"Wait one sec," said Ronnie to Mark as they entered the hall, "I'm going to talk to Sharron. She's the matron here."

She knocked on the first door on the left. Moments later, a willowy middle aged black woman with long braided hair and a kindly face answered.

"Hey, Sharron," said Ronnie, "I know you weren't expecting me for another hour or so, but I'd wanted to speak with you briefly."

"Sure, Ronnie," said Sharron, "what's up?"

"Remember a month ago I was telling you about attending camp where professional wrestlers acted as co-counselors?" said Ronnie, "well, I have one with me. He goes by the Undertaker in the ring, but his real name is Mark and he wanted to pay a visit to the shelter while he was in town. I wanted to check with you and make sure it was ok."

"Well yes, of course," said Sharron, smiling pleasantly, "I think that would be a nice treat for everyone here. Is he here now?"

"Yes, he is," said Ronnie, "here he is,"

Mark moved forward to shake Sharron's hand.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he said.

"Likewise," said Sharron. Mark noticed she had a firm handshake, "would you like a tour of the place?"

"Sure," said Mark.

The place was well maintained, but nonetheless, still seemed to be a desolate place. Despite this, the residents looked well cared for and upbeat, though Mark saw that majority of these residents were Ronnie's age or younger. When Ronnie introduced Mark to the residents, they were thrilled. The children were in awe of his large size and gentle smile.

"That's a bonus for me," said Mark to Ronnie, "Usually when kids see me, they start crying and hide behind their parents."

Ronnie then introduced Mark to other staff members: Carlos, Karim, Rachel, Dee Dee, and Reggie. They were as enthusiastic as the children when Mark spoke to them and shook their hands.

Ronnie appeared to really be in her element at the shelter. Mark watched her with a little smile on his face as he and Ronnie sung and dance with the shelter's residents. She smiled easier, especially around the children, whom seemed to adore her. They all sat in a circle, listening attentively, as Ronnie read them their favorite story, _Oscar Otter._ She even enlisted Mark's help, along with Dee Dee and Karim to act out the Three Little Bears. The little kids ate it up, laughing and cheering.

When Mark announced he was ordering pizza for the whole shelter, they thanked him endlessly , hugging and kissing him, Mark loved it. One mother told him that it was great to know that there were high profile people who made an effort to be caring and understanding of those less fortunate than they. As good as that felt to hear, it also saddened Mark a bit. He wasn't doing it because he was famous, he was doing it because he felt obligated, as a human being to be caring and empathetic to other's plights. It was sad how little faith man had in humanity as a whole

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister," said Sharron to Mark after Ronnie's shift was over. "Thank you for bringing light into everyone's world."

"It was nothing," said Mark, pulling out a check book, "listen, I'd like to donate to the shelter. Only, I don't want a lot of cameras. You, Ronnie, and the others have been giving all your time to this place, and it would be unfair for me to take the spotlight from them. Therefore, I'm writing a check for fifty thousand dollars."

He handed the check over to Sharron. This time, Sharron pulled him into a bone crushing hug.

"I cannot thank you enough for you generosity," said Sharron. "As long as people like you keep helping our cause, we will build for a better future."

"My pleasure," said Mark, bowing courteously, "Have a wonderful week, ma'am."

"What did you think?" said Ronnie, quietly as they were driving up West Broadway.

"Some of the friendliest people I've ever met," said Mark. "They don't have much, but the unity and love they had shows me how much we take for granted."

"Absolutely," said Ronnie, "The staff and I are adamant in convincing them that their current situations are not their last stop. That's what my mission in life is. To empower each other and help benefit mankind."

Mark shot a glance at Ronnie with admiration. Although she was slightly reclusive, she was a born leader, a visionary, like her parents before her. Her sureness of herself was so attractive.

"Hey, Ron, while we're in Soho, how about you show me the scene, huh?" said Mark.

"Sure, no problem," said Ronnie. "There's this art gallery on Greene Street, it's like around the corner from here."

They reached a white Federal style building. Mark got out the car and followed Ronnie upstairs to the gallery.

"This is the Terrain Gallery," said Ronnie sotto voce as Mark looked around. "It opened in the 1950s. Are you aware of Eli Siegel?"

"Somewhat," said Mark, "He was behind the Aesthetic Realism philosophy, right?"

"Right," said Ronnie, "The person who opened up this gallery, was the wife of one of Siegel's earliest students. These arts here are based on his Aesthetic Realism teachings. Most specifically, the Theory of Opposites."

"Hmmm," said Mark, "It's been a while since I've read about that. Refreshen my memory, will you?"

"Well, Siegel's theory was that opposites are one," said Ronnie, "that the world, art, and self explained each other. With that theory, he further explained that difference worked with sameness, and separateness worked with togetherness in art."

"I got you now," said Mark, "The fifteen questions of beauty making the one of opposites."

"Exactly," said Ronnie, "Siegel was a genius in his own right."

The two ceased talking and viewed the gallery. Mark took the silence as an opportunity to critique the art, while Ronnie was busy deciphering the meanings behind them.

After an hour in the gallery, they went into a shop that sold handmade jewelry. Mark, remembering that he had not bought Ronnie a gift for her birthday, purchased a locket that had the solar planets pictured inside.

"Oh my God, it's beautiful!" Ronnie, exclaimed. "Thank you, Mark, I absolutely love it!"

"I knew you would chili pepper," said Mark beaming. "I saw it and it screamed you."

"Really?" said Ronnie, looking up at Mark, curiously with those shiny dark eyes.

"Yeah," said Mark, "The solar system, like you, is so full of wonder and inspiration. You connect spiritually with the Earth and the arts."

"That was beautiful," said Ronnie, smiling. Mark was glad to see she was smiling more.

The two of them returned to Greenwich Village by 5 p.m., but didn't go to Ronnie's place. They caught a play at Cherry Lane Theater called Brilliant Traces. Casting only two people, a male, and a female, it was about a woman running away from her own wedding who finds herself in a remote Alaska cabin during a blizzard with another man. It was a deep, thought provoking tale with themes of relationships, and the complexity of human nature. It was one of the best plays Mark had ever seen.

Night was making its presence felt as Mark and Ronnie stepped out of the theater. The pizza had long worn off and Mark wanted to find sustenance. As though to read his mind, Ronnie said, "we can head back to the house then. Smoke a little joint, and eat some more of what I cooked."

As soon as they got back to the house, Ronnie turned on Jimi Hendrix's _Electric Ladyland_ album, as she watched Mark roll up a fat joint.

"This is my favorite Hendrix album of all time," said Ronnie, as she laid her head on Mark's lap, while they both smoked, listening to the slow bluesy psychedelic riff of VooDoo Chile.

"I dig this album too," said Mark, blowing smoke rings, "But my favorite Hendrix album was Axis: Bold as Love. Hard to pick which song I loved the most."

"It would have to be between Castles Made of Sand and One Rainy Wish for me," said Ronnie, taking the joint from Mark, "Though I loved Bold as Love. I liked the way he described emotions as people."

"Yeah, Jimi certainly had a way with words," said Mark.

Night progressed on. By midnight, Mark and Ronnie were grooving, under the influence of marijuana. Mark wasn't ready to go to sleep. He had an idea.

"Ronnie, why don't you let me do a portrait of you?" he asked.

Ronnie mulled it over for a second and said, "Okay, only if you let me do one of you afterwards."

"Deal," said Mark, "Bare it all, if you don't mind."

Immediately, Ronnie removed every article of clothing. She walked over to Mark and rubbed her bare breasts against him.

"Now you, big boy," she whispered.

Smirking, Mark obliged. Instantly, Ronnie's arms snaked around Mark's waist and squeezed his buttocks.

"Careful now," said Mark in a low voice as he returned the favor. "Don't wake Mr. Wood from his slumber."

Ronnie giggled as she grabbed the thing in question. Mark felt weak at the knees, but he steered her hand away from it.

"Later," he said, "for now, just gather up the utensils."


	19. Chapter 19

_Enter the garden of desires,_

 _choose your poison_

 _Your five sense magnify,_

 _leaving you frozen_

 _Overstimulated, observing_

 _me and my starkness_

 _Steering you in like a horse_

 _by its harness_

 _I will take you, have you, and_

 _make you mine_

 _Entranced as you drink the_

 _sybaritic wine_

 _Deny yourself no more,_

 _succumb to the sensation_

 _Can you feel the power of_

 _Himero's evocation?_

 _My lips touch yours in_

 _a titillating kiss_

 _You taste my sacred pears_

 _sending waves of bliss_

 _Our breaths come out in_

 _shallow jagged breaths_

 _We embrace each other,_

 _and die a little death_

 _\- Flesh of the Forbidden Fruit_

 _August 27, 1991_

The sound of the alarm clock buzzing loudly woke Mark up with a start. Groaning, he reached over Ronnie's head and turned it off. Ronnie groaned and lifted her head from her pillow.

"Morning, love," she said to Mark.

"Mornin'," said Mark, running his hand up and down her back. "Sleep good?"

"Sure did," said Ronnie, closing her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation of Mark's hands. "Had a nice dream."

"Oh yeah?" said Mark, "what about?"

"It was you and I," said Ronnie, "we were in this garden. Not like a backyard garden, one of those walk in gardens like a forest. It was beautiful, it had every flower you could think of, and every kind of tree. You were sitting under an apple tree, naked with a flamenco guitar, singing to me in Spanish."

Mark laughed.

"What were you wearing?" he asked.

"Leaves," said Ronnie.

"Well, we can make the dream come partly true," said Mark, smirking, "I mean, we're already naked, and you have a guitar. But I don't speak a lick of Spanish."

"I can teach you," said Ronnie, playing with Mark's hair. "You'll be my _papi_ in no time."

"I have a better idea," said Mark, "how about I play the piano and sing to you, in the nude?"

Ronnie mulled it over for a few seconds.

"Sure, that works," she said. "C'mon, let's go."

Just when they were about to go into the living room, they heard the sound of a key turning in the door. Ronnie froze, her face pale. Heart beating with terror, Mark heard the sound of a door opening and keys being tossed somewhere.

"Shit!" whispered Ronnie, mortified. "It's my mom!"

"Ronnie!" said Claudine's voice from the regions of the living room, "Wake up, mama's home."

Mark watched Ronnie scramble to put her clothes on. Mark gathered up his clothes too.

"Just hide in the closet," said Ronnie, sliding on sweapants, "I'll let you know when it's safe to

come out."

She bolted out the door while Mark slid on his jeans and went into the closet, which was big enough for him to fit in. As darkness shrouded him, he strained his ear to listen.

"Hey, Mommy," said Ronnie, trying not to sound guilty, "how was your flight?"

"Exhausting," said Claudine. She had a honeyed voice with her native Louisiana drawl infused, in which her fans could easily distinguish. "I would have been home the other day, but it was stormin' in Italy, so they had to ground all the flights. Wait til you see all the souvenirs I brought back with me. "

Mark listened to Claudine discuss her experiences on tour, showing Ronnie pictures and souvenirs. She was going on forever, and beads of sweat were rolling down Mark's forehead, both from the heat and panic.

At long last, Mark heard Claudine say to Ronnie, "Sweetie, if you don't mind, I'm gonna have me a little laydown, that flight took a lot out of me. We'll go out tonight, since I missed your birthday."

"Sure, that's fine, mom," said Ronnie, "have a good rest."

Mark heard Ronnie coming back to her room. She opened the closet door and whispered, "she's in her room, just be real quiet about gathering up your stuff."

Mark nodded as picked up his duffel bag and started packing his clothes into it. Then, he, along with Ronnie walk stealthily into the living room and out the door.

"When will I see you again?" said Ronnie, once they got outside.

"I'm not sure," said Mark, ruefully, "I'll have to consult my boss to see what the schedule's looking like over the next few months. In the meantime, I'm buying a mobile phone soon. When I get it, you'll be the first person to get my number."

"I've really enjoyed these past few days with you, Mark," said Ronnie, "I can't describe how you make me feel."

"You don't need to describe it, chili pepper," said Mark, "if you feel it."

Ronnie smiled.

"You always know what to say," she said.

"One of my talents, darlin," Mark drawled. He leaned in closer to her and kissed her. Her distinct fragrance drove him over the edge. He was very close to taking her on that doorstep, but he controlled himself.

After he pulled apart from her, Mark said to Ronnie, "Hey, when I'm in town next time, let's not have sex,"

"Huh?" said Ronnie, confused, "what's wrong?"

"Don't get me wrong, the sex with you is amazing," said Mark, "but I don't want our whole relationship to be based on sex, you know? You and I have a special connection, and sex just cheapens it and ruins it a little. So, let's just do it every once in a blue moon, that way, it would be much more special."

Ronnie, who was close to getting upset, smiled.

"That makes sense," she said.

Mark stroked her hair and took a good look at her just one last time.

"Take care of yourself, chili pepper," he said, "I love you."

"I love you too," said Ronnie.

Mark got into his rental . Ronnie blew him a kiss, before going back inside her house. He started up his car and drove off into the morning sun.


	20. Chapter 20

It was the first day back to school. Ronnie woke up bright and early. After showering, she put on a Georgetown Hoyas sweatshirt, some jeans that were ripped at the knee and some Converse sneakers. She wasn't really fussy about her attire, she was going to school to get an education, not make a fashion statement. The only thing she cared about was the locket Mark gave her. It was one of her most treasured gifts and she made sure she wore it everyday.

Since Claudine had come home, Ronnie had to plan her phone calls with Mark. It was easier when Claudine was drunk as a skunk some nights, but most nights when Mark called, Ronnie often said, "wrong number," to indicate that Claudine was around and couldn't talk at the moment. That last thing Ronnie wanted was for Claudine to become suspicious and started inquiring about Mark. She was already commenting on how Ronnie walked differently.

Ronnie gathered up her bookbag and went into the kitchen. Claudine was still asleep and wouldn't be awake until the early afternoon. She had landed a gig at the Village Vanguard, one of the most eminent jazz clubs in the world. She worked late nights, so she slept all day and didn't have time to make breakfast, which left Ronnie disappointed. She was hoping her mother would make her famous French Toast.

Ronnie went into the pantry and grabbed a Pop Tart and Hi-C drink before heading out the door. As she turned a corner, she unwrapped the Pop Tart and bit into it. Normally, she loved the taste of blueberry Pop Tarts, but the minute she bit into it, the blueberries were suddenly too overwhelming for her taste buds. She spit out the Pop Tart and retched on the sidewalk. After she recovered, she tossed the rest of the Pop Tart away and kept going.

Students were everywhere as they waited for City As to open. Ronnie hoped not only to ace all of her classes and graduate, but to complete the school year without getting detention or getting into fights. She wasn't going to let anyone wind her up. As much as she was looking forward to giving Lisa and her clique an overdue beatdown, she decided that she wasn't going to let them jeopardize her studies. She had her heart set on going to Howard, and nobody, _nobody_ was going to get in the way of that.

After school finally opened, the students had to report to the main office to pick up their schedules. It took a couple of hours, but Ronnie finally got hers and reported to her home room. When she got there, the teacher hadn't arrived yet, so there were a few students in there acting rowdy, laughing obnoxiously and throwing things at each other. All she needed was to get hit by an object and her vow not to get into a fight would have been broken.

But she didn't get hit. The two main boys throwing things at each other got a glimpse of Ronnie and froze. They waited until she wasn't in the crossfire to continue throwing again.

She found a seat in the back by the window. While waiting upon the teacher, she pulled out her doodling pad. She drew a rat sitting on the back of a rottweiler looking in delight at the oak tree, which had the initials R+M '91 carved into it. Her mind then wandered to the English Oak tree by Lake Larriwien. Those spiritually intimate moments spent with Mark brought a smile to Ronnie's face. It was almost as if she could smell his Boucheron cologne. God, she missed him so much.

The first day of school turned out to be grueling. She already had loads of homework to do; She had to do at least a page on current events for Government and Politics, 15 word problems for trigonometry, a report on how the Beat Generation's influence shaped literature today as we knew it (she knew she would ace that report with no effort) and at least a page on the Boomerang Nebula for Astronomy. And it didn't help that Ronnie kept experiencing bouts of nausea throughout the day. The sensation was so strong that it nearly made her faint. She had retched a few times, but nothing came out.

Lunch couldn't come soon enough. After Ronnie gathered up her food, she looked around for a place to sit. She spotted Lisa and her little entourage as she walked past them. She gave them a mocking smile, knowing it would piss them off. She saw Micah, sitting at a table by himself. She walked up to that table and ask Micah, "mind if I sit here?"

Micah looked bemused, but delighted. He said, "No, not at all."

Micah had grown a few more inches since Ronnie had last saw him, making him more gangly than ever. He had gotten a buzz cut for school, and it made his already protruding ears more prominent than ever.

"How was your remaining vacation?" asked Ronnie as she begin to cut her Salisbury steak in neat rectangle shapes over her bed of mashed potatoes.

"It was great," said Micah, "My grandparents and I went to Massachusetts. I've got a lot of family up there, we went to see Paul Revere's house, the USS of Constitution, it was great. We also spent the weekend at Martha's Vineyard, it was really nice. What about you Ronnie, how was the rest of your summer vacation?"

"Oh, it was mostly quiet," said Ronnie, "I've been volunteeing at this homeless shelter and I really like it."

She didn't tell Micah about Mark and she wasn't going to tell him. Secret romances should stay exactly how they were; Secret.

"Listen Micah," she said. "I really want to thank you for being nice to me up in West Milford. I got you a gift to show my gratitude."

She reached into her bookbag and pulled out a comic book, handing it to Micah, who's eyes went as wide as a deer caught in the headlights.

"Whoa, the first edition of the _Fantastic Four!"_ he said in awe, "where did you get this?"

"This guy was having a yard sale," said Ronnie, starting on her fruit cocktail "I heard you talking to Paul and Terry about comic books, so I thought you'd like it."

"I _love_ it," said Micah, still ogling the comic book, "but Ronnie, you really didn't have to get this for me."

"I know," said Ronnie, "but I wanted to."

"Thanks a lot, Ronnie," Micah, grinning, revealing his braces.

"You're welcome," said Ronnie, returning the grin.

"Hey, Ronnie?" said Micah suddenly looking seriously, "Are you going to run for class president this year?"

Ronnie looked at Micah as if he'd lost his mind.

"Me? Class president?" she said incredulously, "yeah right."

"Why not?" said Micah, "You're smart, you know how to speak, and you're passionate. You'd be perfect for it."

"Incase you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly popular in this school," said Ronnie, taking a gulp of milk.

"Who cares about that?" said Micah, "I just don't want to see Lisa as class president. She's been talking about running. She'd just use her rich parents' influence over the school. We need a class presidents who represents the voiceless, and would use her influence as class president to help the entire student body instead of just themselves."

Ronnie eyed Micah curiously. She'd always known him to be shy and akward. She'd never heard him speak with such confidence.

"Ok, I'll run for class president," said Ronnie, "under one condition."

"Which is?" asked Micah.

"You be my running mate," said Ronnie.

Micah's large ears turned bright red.

"Sure," he said, "I'd be honored."

 _Somewhere in Illinois..._

In the brisk crescent midnight, Mark parked his rental in the lot of a diner. It was nearly empty, which suited him well. He needed a break from the bumrush of fans who wouldn't even let him take a piss in peace now.

He sat at the stool and immediately ordered a cup of tea . In addition to his body feeling sore and achy from being slammed on a plywood mat for a living, he was also battling a cold, which was taking a lot out of him. He never felt more miserable in his life. After being on the road for for two and a half weeks, Mark was glad to be going home, and he hated being home.

After departing from Ronnie's apartment, he called an emotionally hysterical Jodi, who had been worried sick and demanded to know why he hadn't called. In a tone that barely hid his agitation, he'd explained that Vince had asked him to remain in New York for some PR work and didn't have much time to contact anyone. There was something in Jodi's term that sounded accusatory. Like she knew he was lying. At this point, Mark didn't care. During one point in his life, there was a time when he couldn't stop thinking about Jodi. She was the Lois Lane to his Superman, and she made him feel that way. Now, he thought about her less. He was pretty sure he loved her less than he did last year.

Mark barely noticed when his waited put his food in front of him. Only then when he realized how hungry he was. He ate in a ravenous manner, stuffing everything at the same time into his mouth. The waitress had to tell him to slow down, and she sounded so much like his mother, that he actually did.

After he paid and tipped the waitress, he checked into a nearby inn and plopped on his bed without taking off his jacket. The tea had done him some good, though his nose was still stufffy and his throat was sore from constantly coughing. He popped a lozenge in his mouth and began to remove his clothing, taking a long, needed shower.

As he lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep, his mind drifted off to Ronnie. What he wanted right now, more than anything, was to be graced with her presence. He wanted to look into her sparkly brown eyes and feel her smooth, golden beige skin. He wouldn't even want to make love to her, he just wanted to look at her and never let her out of his sight. Though, just thinking about her gave her a plesant tingling in his midriff.

Realizing that he couldn't stop thinking about her, Mark did something he hadn't done since his freshman year in high school. In order to ease his mind of Ronnie, he would have to do some self abuse.


	21. Chapter 21

The next couple of months were a blurry mass of oblivion. The days were darker and colder, emotions were at an all time high. Things were steady changing while everyone waited for the pending drop.

The weeks seemed to blend together for Ronnie. She was still processing the coming of age chapters in her life.

When Ronnie decided to run against Lisa for class president, she didn't feel too hopeful about the whole thing. She had Lisa and her ego to run against, as well as the teachers and students. But much to her surprise, Ronnie had found that much of the seniors class resented Lisa and her supercilious attitude toward them and got firmly behind Ronnie instead. And it didn't hurt that Ronnie had unwittingly won admirers in Joey, Vincent, Lamar, and Juan with her artistry during their stay at Camp Vacamas.

Another good thing about running for class president, was that it was helping Micah come out of his shell. He took his job seriously, making the t-shirts and posters himself personally, and when speaking to the other students about the concerns of the school, Ronnie noticed that he spoke with a passion that she'd never heard him speak with before. He too was rewarded with a new network of friends that he'd never experience.

When it was time to give her speech, Ronnie was nervous at first. What could she possibly say to the students that would convince that she was the right person for class president?

Then she remembered that she was Veronica Michelle Peyroux, daughter of Claudine Peyroux and Estaban de los Santos, musicians, poet, activists. It was their own intertwined blood that resided in her very veins; She was a poet, an activist in the making, born to speak her like her parents before her. So with that, she stepped up to that podium confidently and poured her heart out on that stage, injecting a bit of humor in it as well. Ronnie's speech was met with tumultuous applause, the only exceptions being Ellie, Joanie, Marilyn, and Sandra, who sat rigidly in their seats, wearing matching looks of disdain. But Ronnie expected this; She was running against their best friend.

Ronnie won in a landslide victory, though she barely got time to enjoy the victory as she immediately jumped into planning and overseeing the upcoming events for the City As; She had arranged a school bake sale for fundraising to add new activities to the cirriculum, she advocated for better lunches and updated textbooks, and arranged for a school dance. While not performing class president duties, she was working extra hard on school and homework and still working at the homeless shelter afterschool. She barely had time to herself anymore.

Meanwhile, after two years of absence, Estaban returned into her and Claudine's life. The great jazz legend Miles Davis had passed away toward the end of September. Both Claudine and Esteban had repeatedly cited Miles as influences throughout their careers and felt inclined to attend his funeral. After the funeral, Esteban explained to both Claudine and Ronnie that he had been a fool, walking out on the both of them, saying that partners helped each other instead of abandoning them. Ronnie was at a lost for words, but she hugged him for a long time, partly to make sure it was real, and that Esteban wouldn't leave again.

It was on the cusp of midnight. The autumn breeze caressed the multicolored leaves of the trees before wafting into Ronnie's open window, causing the curtains to flutter. She was sitting at her desk, admiring the quarter moon, her gazed fixated on it. She wished Mark was next to her, admiring it with her. Mark was thousand of miles away, though he always had time to be in her mind, in her dreams.

Ronnie had taken to getting her own phone line, that way she wouldn't tie up the main telephone. She hadn't seen Mark in nearly two months, and it was driving her crazy. She had taken to watching wrestling again just to see him, though on T.V. he wasn't her Mark with the warm baritone voice and genial smile, he was the stoic gothic Undertaker with his cold, unflinching stare and equally cold voice. Though, when he got on the phone with her, he was big teddy bear Mark again.

Ronnie opened her notepad and picked up a pen. Immediately, the words left her mind and flowed through her pen onto the notebook.

 _ **M** is for the mesmeric optic spell you capture me in_

 _ **A** is for the ambient feeling of your arms wrapped around my waist_

 _ **R** is for the red ardent flames that grace your locks of hair_

 _ **K** is for knockout, because your love makes me punch drunk_

And then it happened. A strong sea of nausea crashed over Ronnie like a tidal wave. She ran to the bathroom and threw up magnificently into the toilet. She tried to keep quiet, but she might as well have tried to fight the air for that matter. Moaning weakly, she leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from her brow. She hoped that her parents hadn't heard.

The nausea and vomiting had become a frequent thing. Ronnie initially had dismissed it, thinking it was from nerves of running for class president. But after she'd won, nausea and vomiting persisted. She had put off going to the doctor for a while, but the constant vomiting was scaring the hell out of her, as she didn't know what was causing it. Until then, she rinsed her mouth out with Scope and climbed back into bed.


	22. Chapter 22

Jodi lay in her and Mark's king sized bed, her auburn hair falling around her face, giving her a peaceful, somewhat angelic look. Mark used to like to watch her sleep for hours, sacrificing his own need for sleep. During their dating periods, Mark would often write cheesy poems about how he loved to watch her sleep, though she loved them and kept them under her pillow at night.

Those days were no more. Mark sat on his balcony, beer in his hand. He wanted to light a joint, but would also risk the chance of Jodi waking up and going on a tirade about illegal drugs in the house. He snorted slightly as he looked over Joe Pool Lake, which was normally a deep, lucid blue, but looked like a blackish blue abyss.

Earlier that day, they'd gone out to the movies. Jodi got to pick the movie, and much to Mark's annoyance, she couldn't have picked a more awful movie. It was a movie where Demi Moore played a clairvoyant who marries a New York butcher and interacts with the people in her new husband's shop. Mark found himself rolling his eyes, and gritting his teeth so hard, that for a moment, he thought they'd stay that way. Every few minutes, he shot a glance at his watch.

After what seemed like forever, the movie finally ended much to Mark's relief. He and Jodi visited some of Jodi's friends, who were as dull as dishwater. Mark feigned interest when they talked about their stupid cats and smiled politely when he showed every sign of wanting them to shut up.

After a nice steak dinner, Mark drove Jodi home where they'd made sweet, incandescent love. It had been a while since they were intimate together, and Mark was leaving the next day, so he'd figure he'd leave Jodi happy. He had to admit, the sex was unforgettable and was keeping count of how many times Jodi had climaxed; Twelve. Twelve times. That was a new record. Though satisfied, Jodi was a bit baffled by this sudden spark of passion from Mark, especially since lately, Mark had seemed cold and distant lately. She wouldn't know that while they were having sex, Mark was pretending she was Ronnie the whole time.

After he had his fill of the outside view, Mark went into his den and closed the door, where he rolled a joint anyway and then played _Coltrane Sounds_ on the record player. The smooth licks of Coltrane's tenor sax eased him as he lit the joint and took copious tokes of the joint,the pungent smoke infiltrating his lungs and made an exit through his nostrils. Pretty soon, he was in his own hazy utopia, the marijuana making him feel as chill as ice. He was stoned immaculate!

Mark giggled, thinking of Ronnie, who would have appreciated the Doors reference. He hadn't spoken to her in weeks. She was so busy with school, working at the homeless shelter, and spending time with her parents who had recently gotten back together. Mark had also been a little concerned about her, since she had been ill, though she'd reassured him she would be going to the doctors soon.

Mark took a notebook from his book case and sat at the desk with it, while continuing to groove to Coltrane. Getting out a pen, he put it to the paper and emptied his thoughts out onto it.

 _Upstairs in my bed lies a_

 _stranger I once knew_

 _Her smile worthy of a Kodak_

 _moment, eyes kissed with_

 _blue_

 _Graced her finger with a ring_

 _to declare our holy unity_

 _Was drunk in love, now I'm_

 _sober, my decision was one_

 _of lunacy_

 _Bellflowers shrivel up, dying_

 _for thirst in the crystal vase_

 _The man who onced loved_

 _her is far in outer space_

 _Rings shattered in broken_

 _remnants of what is left_

 _of empty vows_

 _My entire future involved her_

 _that was then, this is now_

Mark resumed smoking the joint. He had to tell Jodi sooner or later that he no longer wanted to be with her. He no longer wanted to pursue a future with her, and he no longer felt the way he felt about her when they first met. Everything about her was starting to irritate him, from her voice, her tendency to be clingy, just everything. He was smoking the joint as if to say fuck her rules about drugs in the house. Who paid for the house?

Suddenly, Mark felt disgusted with himself. Disgusted and ashamed of these feelings he was having. He was being unfair to Jodi. She loved him every since high school, and she stood by his side when everyone else thought he was stupid to abandon his studies and chances of basketball for a career in wrestling. She had been there for him through his feelings of self-doubt, through every injury, through every setback. And here he was in this den, thinking of his feelings of ill-will toward her.

While he was grateful to her for that, he couldn't help his feelings nor could he deny them. He just didn't love her anymore. There was no way around it.


	23. Chapter 23

The holidays came quick and fast. It wasn't uncommon to find stores saturated with Christmas decorations and seeing Santa Claus here and there, wishing people happy holidays. Americans nationwide were full of holiday cheer. Well, most Americans.

Mark had been feuding with Hulk Hogan, WWF's biggest star, for majority of Autumn. Their feud eventually led to a showdown for the prestigious WWF Title at a pay per view event called Survivor's Series, where Mark defeated Hogan for the belt. All of those years he had struggled, sleeping in cars, getting rocks and bottles thrown at him, and skipping meals, he was at the top of the mountain. And not only that, there was a major shift in the fanbase. Though The Undertaker was the heel (the bad guy), he found half of the fans were cheering for him as much as babyface (good guy) Hogan. Fans were digging the dark mystique that was the Undertaker and were growing tired of that bubble gum, save babies from a burning building persona of Hogan. It would be soon before The Undertaker himself would be face.

Having won the belt, Mark would have hoped Jodi would be happy for him, as it was something he often talked of during their dating years. She was angry at him because he was wrestling on Thanksgiving's Eve and Thanksgiving Day. She felt he ought to be at home with his family and went even further to say he cared more about his job than he did about her, and went on to ask whether he was screwing his boss. And that's when Mark's frustration boiled over like soup left on a stove too long.

A fusillade of diatribes were unleashed on Jodi. Every feeling of resentment, every feeling he was ashamed of came to surface . When the smoke cleared, Jodi was reduced to a sobs and a flood of tears and agreed that maybe it was best if they went they went their separate ways and see other people with Mark coldy stating he was already ahead of her, slamming the phone down with a grim satisfaction.

Since then, Mark and Jodi separated and he had moved out of the home Jodi and he shared and rented a hacienda style home in Amarillo. It was in the desert, which he loved scouring on his motorcycle. He'd sit back and write bunches of poems or paint portraits, losing himself in the solitude of the house.

On Christmas Eve and Day, he didn't go to any of the parties he had been invited to. Instead, he spent it buying dinner packages and gifts, giving them away to the underprivileged and working at a soup kitchen. When night time fell, he had a nice turkey dinner and then dedicated the rest of his night to drinking Jack Daniels, watching Christmas re-runs, and writing poems.

 _Four Days After Christmas..._

The WWF wrestlers were performing at Madison Square Garden again. Mark was so happy he could have done cartwheels and backflips. After nearly four months, he would finally get to see Ronnie. She had been sounding a little sad on the phone lately, though Mark was sure it was the stressors of being class president and working at the homeless shelter as well as not being able to see Mark. Mark couldn't wait to be in her presence, looking into her beautiful star lit eyes and hold her into his arms. Despite the brumal winds and snow, Mark felt warm and fuzzy inside.

It was a finger numbing thirty degrees, with the sky cloudy and gray, but Mark felt like sunshine inside. He parked his rental around the corner from Central Park. Ronnie didn't say exactly what part of Central Park she would be waiting, but Mark had a shrewd idea what section she would be in. He trudged along the park, snow crunching underneath his boots. Despite the heavy leather jacket and gloves, it was still bitterly cold.

Surely enough, he found Ronnie, sitting on a bench of the Strawberry Fields section of Central Park. The sight of her took his breath away.

She was wearing a large black pea coat and beige slacks. Her hair had grown back and she had it in a curly afro, which Mark thought enhanced her exotic beauty. She looked more mature and even more like Claudine.

She was grinning ear to ear, clutching a medium sized Christmas bag when Mark approached her. They didn't say anything, they wrapped their arms around each other and kissed each other deeply.

"It's really good to see you, chili pepper," said Mark, stroking her face with his finger.

"You too," said Ronnie, running her fingers through Mark's flaming red hair. "To say I've missed you these past months would be an understatement."

She kissed him again, with earnest zeal. She then laid her head against his chest. Mark let her revel in the moment. Hell, he was reveling in it too. He wished it could be like this for all eternity.

"I got you a few gifts," said Ronnie, raising the Christmas bag she had on her arm, "hope you like them."

She handed the bag to Mark, who opened them immediately.

"Holy shit!" Mark exclaimed. "Chet Baker and His Crew, Sonny Rollins, and Tina Brooks! How did you get a hold of these, I've been looking for them for years!"

"Daddy's friend owns a record store," said Ronnie, grinning, "I got them for a good price."

"These are wonderful, sweetie," said Mark. "I love them. Would you like your presents? They're in the car."

"Sure," said Ronnie, "what did you get me?"

"You'll see, chili pepper," said Mark, taking her hand and leading her to the car.

"So how was your Christmas?" he asked, shivering slightly. The winter air was crisp, bristling his hair. He wished he'd worn a hat.

"It was great," said Ronnie, "After we unwrapped our gifts, my parents brought over the food she cooked to the homeless shelter that I worked at. We ate with them, played music, and my mom sang while my dad recited some of his poetry. To me, that's what the real spirit of Christmas is all about, bringing joy to others, not receiving gifts."

"Yeah, it's unfortunate people have a gimme, gimme, gimme, attitude around this time of year," said Mark, "Ironically a month after 'being thankful'. "

As they got in the car, Mark reached in the back seat and gave Ronnie her presents and watched as she opened them. Timothy Leary's _The Painted World,_ arts and crafts material, oil pastel, and Jim Morrison's _American Prayer_ album. Ronnie was ecstatic at her gifts.

"Oh my God, these are incredible," she said. "Thank you so much, Mark."

"Not a problem, chili pepper," said Mark smiling, as he started up the car. Run DMC's Christmas In Hollis was beginning to play.

"Love this tune," said Mark. He began to rap along with the song, Ronnie looking on in surprise.

"What?" said Mark, smirking, "Thought I didn't know this because I'm a white boy?"

"Well...yeah," Ronnie admitted, grinning sheepishly.

"Tsk, tsk," said Mark as he resumed rapping, with Ronnie joining him shortly thereafter. They laughed as they got to the Merry Christmas and Happy New Year part.

"I'm sorry," said Ronnie, "I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's nothing, darlin'," Mark drawled, "I probably-"

Suddenly, Ronnie looked like she was going to be sick. She covered her mouth and made a few retching sounds. Mark quickly grabbed a paper bag he'd had from a bagel earlier and gave it to Ronnie. Ronnie threw up violently into the bag, causing Mark's eyes to widen in alarm. When the vomiting desisted, Mark asked Ronnie, "Still?"

Ronnie, not trusting herself to speak, merely nodded.

"You went to the doctor for that, didn't you?" asked Mark, "what did they say?"

"I'm fine, hon, no need to worry about me," said Ronnie when she was sure she could talk again, "say, why don't we head to the Metropolitan Museum of Art now?"

Mark didn't further press on the matter, though it seemed that Ronnie deliberately changed the subject quickly. And he was sure Ronnie had averted her gaze while saying she was fine.

The two of them spent two hours at the Met. Mark wished he had a hundred eyes as he checked out all of the fascinating displays and exhibitions. The Great Hall itself was impressive with its Beaux-Arts architechture. He wished he had enough time to look at every painting and sculpture , but time was of an essence, and he'd only had a few more hours left with Ronnie.

After they left the Met, Mark and Ronnie drove to West Village where they went to The Pink Tea Cup, a legendary soul food restaurant that was known for its affiliation with Motown artists and other celebrities. The owners greeted Ronnie by name as they sat down.

"You must come here an awful lot," said Mark after they'd ordered their food.

"My parents used to come here a lot," said Ronnie, "Especially when my mom was pregnant with me. She'd travel all the way from Jersey to here just to satisfy her cravings. And then when I moved to New York, I used to come 'round here after school while my parents were working and eat here and do my homework."

The food was delicious. Mark had never tasted anything as good as the buttermilk fried chicken he was eating now, so cripsy, but tender. The macaroni was a savory blend of five cheeses, and the collard greens had been made with smoked turkey. His plate was empty without even a morsel left.

Mark drove Ronnie to Greenwich Village where they went to Washington Square Park. Light flurries of snow started to fall as Mark and Ronnie sat on the bench, taking in the scenery; The park looked like a real life snow globe at the moment.

"I've really enjoyed this day with you Mark," said Ronnie putting her gloved hand into his. "I swear you're the best thing that could have ever happened to me."

She looked at Mark and smiled. Mark smiled too, until he looked deep into Ronnie's eyes that were so much like Claudines. They were so full of sadness.

"What's wrong chili pepper?" Mark asked.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" asked Ronnie, turning away as she said it.

"I see it all in your eyes, darlin'," said Mark, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Ronnie suddenly feel silent, pretending that the Washington Square Arch was a sudden interest to her. Though out of the corner of her eye, a single tear slid down it.

"Ronnie," started Mark, "what's going on? Tell me, baby."

Ronnie sighed sadly.

"I can't hold it off any longer," she said. "You have to know."

"Know what?" said Mark, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold permeating through his body.

"After New Years Eve, I plan on running away and going abroad," said Ronnie.

"Running away?" repeated Mark, confused. "Why, darlin'? I thought everything was going well for you at home and at school."

"Mark," Ronnie started, "there's a reason I've been throwing up a lot. After deciding I could't put it off any longer, I went to the doctor last month. And I found out that...that...Mark I'm four months pregnant."

Suddenly, Mark felt like he wasn't in Washington Square Park, but a million miles away.

"Mark?" said Ronnie's voice, suddenly reeling him back in, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Hundreds of emotions were hitting Mark at once, but he pulled himself together and addressed the situation.

"Pregnant?" repeated Mark sounding hollow. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It was something I couldn't tell you over the telephone," said Ronnie, "I wanted to wait 'til I saw you. I was going to run away after I received the news, but with it being the holidays and all I didn't want to ruin it for everyone. But my parents and teachers are starting to get suspicious. I've been flunking gym class, and I've been wearing extra large sweaters and shirts to hide my stomach, even around the house. In a few months, I won't be able to keep up this charade, so it's best for me."

"You don't have to go abroad, baby," said Mark, "Come move in with me, I'll take care of you and the baby, you wouldn't have to worry about nothing. Anything you need, I'll take care of it."

"I know you would Mark," said Ronnie, more tears coming down her face, but somehow her voice was steady. "But I can't keep doing this, operating in secrecy. If word got out about this, do you have any idea of what it would do to you and your career? That's why I'm going away, nobody will ask questions, and nobody will know. And furthermore, my conscience has been eating at me."

"What do you mean?" asked Mark, though he knew good and well what she meant."

Ronnie sighed sadly.

"Don't get me wrong, Mark," she said, her voice cracking, " I love you with every piece of my heart and soul, but I can't keep messing with you, knowing that you're a married man. The love we have is real, but at the same time, it's a beautiful lie. How long are we going to keep living in sin, Mark?"

Mark's mouth was bone dry. He knew Ronnie was right, but if loving her was wrong, then he didn't want to be right.

"But what about Howard?" Mark asked desparately, "you had your heart set on Howard, chili pepper."

"I'll have to forget it," said Ronnie, gloomily. "I'll have to forget my whole life as I know it here. My parents will disown me, I'll be a single mother with a child out of wedlock. I'm going to go another country and start a new life."

There was a pregnant pause between them. Tears were streaming down both of their eyes.

"If that's what you really want," started Mark slowly, "then who am I to stop you? But before you go, there's two things I want you to do."

He wrote a check for fifty thousand dollars and handed it to Ronnie, who looked at it.

"Mark, I have money," she said, "You don't have to do this."

"I want to," said Mark, "just open up an account and put it in a bank. When the baby is born, I'll wire the money to the account every month, that way you'll be set up. And another thing-"

He grabbed Ronnie and kissed her like he'd never kissed her before. She returned the kiss with interest."

"There's one thing I want you to know," said Mark, his voice raw with emotion, "I love you Ronnie Peyroux, and I will always love you with every fiber in my being. I'll never forget you."

"And I you," said Ronnie, "and if it's meant to be, we'll somehow find our way back to each other."

The snow was coming down harder as the two left the park. Mark dropped her off in front of her house looking at her for the last time. After she was out of sight, Mark drove off looking for a bar to drown his sorrows in for a few hours.


	24. Chapter 24

1991 was a few hours away from being dead, and 1992 would supplant it. The WWF wrestlers were celebrating at a hotel party, waiting for the countdown to begin. The whole aura of the hotel lounge was just positive and you could hear the sounds of many champagne bottles popping, people singing and cheering in an inebriated fashion, and many party horns being blown.

Shawn had been to busy dancing and flirting with the pretty workers at the hotel and imbibing too many bottles of champagne to notice that Mark was missing from the party. Normally, Mark loved being in the thick of parties. Anywhere there'd be women and booze, he was game for it. Although Shawn pretended to be indifferent about it, he actually noticed that Mark seemed more sullen than usual. He decided to abandon the party and go check up on him.

Too tanked to take the stairs, Shawn took the elevator to Mark's hotel room. He was surprised to see that the door was ajar. He could hear the music of the Doors issuing from the room as well. He entered the room without knocking and searched for Mark.

 _This is the end...beautiful friend..._

"Mark?" said Shawn, looking around. There were a few of Mark's clothes discarded on the floor.

 _This is the end...my only friend, the end_

"Mark!" shouted Shawn, searching the balcony, "where are you, buddy?"

 _Of our elaborate plans, the end_

He searched the bathroom. There, he found Mark on the floor, slumped against the wall, wearing nothing but black Jockey underwear. A bottle of Jim Beam lay nearby, though there was a dollop of the bourbon left. His eyes were bloodshoot, though, Shawn observed, not from the Jim Beam.

"Mark," said Shawn, kneeling down , concerned for his best friend, "what's going on, man?"

Mark sighed, a grimace on his face.

"Life," he said in drawling baritone, "life goes on, Shawn , even if it feels like my whole world has ended right now."

 _He must be pretty tanked_ thought Shawn, _he ain't making any sense at all._

"What's the matter, man?" asked Shawn, "You can tell me. Do you miss Jodi?"

"Nah, it ain't Jodi," said Mark, his voice cracking, "Shawn, I have to tell you something, man. You remember when we co-counseled at Vacamas earlier this year?"

"Ronnie," said Shawn at once, somberly, "You slept with her or something?"

If anything were to slip Mark out of his intoxicated stupor, it was this. He looked at Shawn in surprise, who gave him a wry grin.

"How'd you know it was Ronnie?" asked Mark in surprise.

"Eyes are watching, even when you don't think they are, ol' buddy," said Shawn, "I caught the flirty little smiles ya'll gave each other often. And the day we were leaving, I saw you kiss her in the woods."

"So you knew this whole time?" said Mark.

"Yeah," said Shawn.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Mark, you're poised to become one of the biggest stars this company has ever seen," said Shawn. "You'll surpass Hogan in legacy and popularity. Do you know how dire the setback would be if word got out you had an affair with an underage girl? You might not ever recover, man, your legacy will forever be tarnished. So, let's just keep this between me and you."

"Well, you were right, I did sleep with her," said Mark. "Now she's pregnant. She's fucking pregnant, Shawn."

Fresh tears leaked down Mark's cheeks.

"Shit," said Shawn, "can't you tell her to get an abortion?"

"No, it goes against my beliefs," said Mark, "even if I wanted to tell her, I have no idea where she is."

"What do you mean?" asked Shawn.

"She went abroad," said Mark, miserably, "She wanted to avoid a scandal, and her parents."

"About the best you can hope for." said Shawn. He had said the wrong thing, for Mark began to weep earnestly.

"She left me," said Mark between his sobs, "She left me, and I'll never know what becomes to my kid. And in a way, I don't blame her. I ruined that girl's life. She was going to college, she was so excited about that. She had so many hopes and dreams, and I took all that away from her. I should have put a cap on it. She'd still be here."

Shawn patted Mark on the back consolingly while Jim Morrison's musical rendition of the tale of Oedipus blared through the room. He hated to see Mark fall apart like this. Ronnie must have meant everything to him.

"Well, I'm here for you, man," said Shawn. "I'll help you get through this. Cry now, let all that shit out, grieving will help you later in accepting that she's gone. It'll help you move on, you know? Until then, get your big ass up and wash your face. And then get you some rest man. When you wake up, it'll be a brand new year."

It took a few minutes, but Mark pulled himself together. Staggering toward the sink, he turned on the fauce and splashed cool ice water on his face. Shawn handed Mark a towel, and he dried his face off before heading to his bed, where he passed out immediately.

 _This is the end...beautiful friend...this is the end..my only friend, the end_

 _It hurts to set you free...but you'll never follow me..._


	25. Chapter 25

From the day Ronnie left, Mark was never the same again. Apart from a telegram indicating that she had the baby (though she never revealed the sex), Mark hadn't heard anything from Ronnie. There was a big void she left in his heart forever. Mark stopped writing poetry, stopped drawing, he just lost interest in the arts period. However, he did keep his jazz collection, especially Claudine Peyroux's albums, though he couldn't finish listening without bursting into the tears, because he never understood her blues more clearly than he did now.

Whenever Mark wasn't wrestling, he spent majority of his days drunk, high, or a combination of both. It wasn't uncommon to find him in a strip club, drunk as a lord a beautiful dancer grinding against him.

After a few months, however, he'd grown sick of the life of excess and went back to Jodi where they sat down and had a long talk. He told her he'd be willing to do whatever it took to get back in her good graces, and that he'd promise he'd be a better person and a better husband. While she was still upset with all that Mark put her through, Jodi was a firm believer in giving people another chance. She allowed Mark to move back in.

Though there was slight improvement in their relationship, there was still that area of mistrust between the both of them. Jodi was often suspicious of Mark and would often accuse him of messing around again. This annoyed Mark; If she was going to accuse of him cheating, she should have at least have evidence.

In the summer of '93, Mark and Jodi welcomed their son, Gunner Vincent Calaway into the world. While Mark was overwhelmed with joy at having Gunner into his life, there was always that feeling of unease in the back of his mind whenever he watched Gunner play, knowing that Gunner wasn't his first born. Somewhere in Europe, there was probably a little boy or little girl, running around, probably looking just like him.

For the next six years, Mark and Jodi's relationship got more rockier with infidelities from both parties occurring. The both of them would get into full blown arguments over exceedingly minor things like Mark not putting the cap back on the tube of toothpaste, or Jodi chewing too loud. They tried not to argue in front of Gunner, but it was hard for Gunner not to hear the sounds of his parents raging and cursing at each other through the thin walls.

After 10 years of misery, Mark and Jodi filed for divorce, citing irreconcible differences as the reason. During this time, he'd begun dating Sara, a women he'd met in California during an autograph session. She was tall with an athletic build with long flowing blonde hair and bold features. Mark knew right away he had to have her and asked her out.

Sara was a tough, no nonsense woman who was a bit of a tomboy, sharing Mark's love of sports, specifically boxing. They hit off pretty wheel, dating her for a year, before proposing to her the following year. For once in his life, Mark became a one woman man, abandoning the party boy lifestyle altogether and committing to Sara. She motivated him, always furthering him to better himself by caring for his body and getting intune with himself, something he hadn't done in years. The marriaged produced two little girls, Chasey and Gracie, with Mark being over the moon, as he had always wanted daughters.

However, as the years progressed, Mark found himself getting annoyed with Sara like he'd done with Jodi. Sara was emotionally immature with an irascible temper that magnified whenever a woman attempted to talk to him. When she went on the road with him a few times, she attempted to beat up a few WWE Divas when she perceived that they were flirting with her husband. It got to the point where Mark found her jealousy unbearable, so they separated for a year, eventually divorcing after 7 years of marriage. He had taken up to dating a fellow wrestler named Michelle during that time.

He felt he could relate to Michelle as they were both wrestlings going through nasty divorces. They decided to keep it casual, though during the first few dates, Mark swept Michelle off of her feet and she knew he was the one. After two years of dating, he and Michelle married each other in a park that he'd often occupied during his childhood in Houston. Michelle was just perfect to him, a tall attractive country girl from Florida who was deeply into religion. Mark was never a religious man, but once he'd started attended church with Michelle, he felt some spiritual connection with her that he'd never had with Jodi or Sara. He made him so happy to wake up to her every morning. With Michelle, he sired his fourth child, Kaia, who was more precious to him than any diamond. He could finally live happily ever after with his wife and four children. Or so he thought.

Michelle had fallen very ill in the summer of 2015. She often complained of pain, especially in her limbs, she felt tired easily, and there was swelling in certain areas. After it became too much for her to bear, Mark took her to the hospital where she was diagnosed with stage M1 bone cancer. The doctors had said the cancer was quickly spreading and that she didn't have much time left. Mark felt as if an elephant had stamped on his chest crushing the very air out of him, though he never showed it in front of Michelle; The last thing she needed was to be treated like she was dying, even if she had lost an incredible amount of weight in a short space of time and was losing her hair. Mark spent her remaining days of her life catering to her every need, making her feel special. He was holding her hand when she closed her eyes forever, surrounded by friends and family.

 _2016_

The sun glared jarringly down on the two men as they lounged in the backyard. The smaller of the two was on the grill, flipping over the steaks for that night's dinner, while the larger one sipped a beer, staring wistfully at the palm trees in the distance.

After all those years, Mark and Shawn had remained friends. It was one of the few friendships of Mark that had survived, however rocky. Shawn had abandoned his wild party boy heydeys around the same time Mark had. He'd married his second wife, Rebecca in the late 90s and became a born again Christian. Shawn credited Rebecca, along with his two children, Cameron and Cheyenne for being the reason he turned his life around. He was more happy than he'd ever been in his life.

"Mark," said Shawn's voice, bringing Mark back to the present again. "You were thinking about Michelle again, weren't you?"

Mark nodded.

"I really miss her, Shawn," said Mark, "I miss her sweet smile, those pretty blue eyes, the way she said my name with that slight drawl. It's been a year, and I still can't believe she's gone."

Shawn watched Mark drift off into space again, pity pronounced in his eyes.

"Mark, let me ask you something," said Shawn, "do you think Michelle would have wanted you to be miserable like this?"

"I reckon not," said Mark, taking a long sip of his beer.

"I know you miss her, Mark," said Shawn, "but grieving and missing her is not going to make her come back. Michelle would want you to get on with your life and be happy. For her sake, and the children's sake."

"I know," said Mark, and he sounded tired, and older than he actually was. "It's not just her death that's affecting me, it's the fact that maybe I'm destined to be alone. That just scares the shit out of me. I don't want to die alone."

"And you won't," said Shawn. "You know what I'm thinking, big fella? I'm thinking it's about time you found Ronnie."

Mark looked at Shawn in amazement. He had not heard, or uttered that name in years.

"Ronnie?" he repeated. Funny how years ago, the mere mention of her name made his heart beat 100 times faster, but now it just felt odd hearing it. "Why do you think I should find her?"

"Because one, I think it's time you find out what became of your child with her," said Shawn, "and second it all started with Ronnie, maybe she's the answer."

"Ok, say I take your advice, Shawn," said Mark, "how the hell am I supposed to find her. I don't even know where she is."

Shawn feigned impatience and let out a dramatic sigh.

"You are aware of computers aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mark, "I'm also aware of this foot about to go up your condescending ass."

"Some things never change," said Shawn, shaking his head, laughing. "But seriously, go on the Internet and look her up. Didn't you tell me years ago, that her mom was a famous jazz musician?"

"Yes, I did," said Mark.

"Well, there you go, my man," said Shawn, "look up her mom and the rest will take care of itself."

The knot that had been sitting in Mark's chest slowly began to unravel, and he could breathe a little again.

"Alright," said Mark, "I'll do that. Thanks a lot, Shawn."

"Not a problem, ol' buddy!" said Shawn, fist bumping. "Now that's you're finished moping, why don't you make yourself useful and start unpeeling the corn."


	26. Chapter 26

Once he had put the girls to sleep, Mark went into the living room and logged into his computer. Going on Google, he typed in the name Claudine Peyroux. Many results and images were produced from the search, but there was one link that caught Mark's eye.

In bold print, the article read; **JAZZ BLUES SINGER, CLAUDINE PEYROUX, SET TO MAKE APPEARANCE AT NEWARK'S NJPAC.** Curious, Mark clicked on the link and read the article.

" _New Jersey's most devoted jazz fans are in for a treat this Thursday. Legendary jazz singer and civil rights activist, Claudine Peyroux, will be performing at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center in the state's largest city of Newark. Known for her rich as molasses vocals as well as her fiery temper on and offstage, the Bayou Nightingale expressed her delight at being in Newark again._

 _"I have history here," said the 72 year-old Peyroux, "I've performed in some of the even greater cities like Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans,and Harlem, but Newark has always been special to me, because the performing arts is so ingrained in this city. I'd performed at the Paramount Theatre for 10 years and at Newark Symphony Hall often. One of my biggest influences, Sarah Vaughan, was born in Newark. I have nothing but good memories when I think of Newark."_

 _Other acts include Newark's own Savion Glover, jazz pianist Keith Jarrett, guitarist Bob deVos,and Peyroux's husband, poet, jazz musician, and activist, Esteban de los Santos. They will be performing for a benefit concert with the proceedings going to NJ Hunger Project in an effort to end get more funding for food banks._

 _"It's unfortunate that millions of children starve in a developed country like America," says Peyroux, "Things like that should even be an issue, so it's a good thing that we're having this concert, hopefully it will bring awareness and we'll get more people to care."_

Mark clicked on another url for more details. The concert was in two weeks and would begin at 5 p.m. He purchased a ticket before logging off of the computer.

"So this is it." he muttered to himself. "My journey for my former love begins."

In a few hours, Mark would be in Newark, waiting to see his idol, Claudine Peyroux. He listened to some music, while he waited for the plane he was on to take flight. Even though he had met Claudine many years ago and the experience was pleasant, he felt his stomach drop everytime he thought about meeting her again. How was he going he going to go about asking about Ronnie? Would she be willing to tell what became of her daughter and grandchild? Was Ronnie even still alive for that manner? He had to know.

The most uncomfortable thing about beginning the search for Ronnie, was that he had to sit his four children down and let them know about his unknown child. While his three girls were too young to know the situation, Gunner was understandably upset, having thought he was his father's first born all this time, though he accepted the situation and wished Mark well on his search.

Finally, the plane took flight. Mark began to feel drowsy, having always found long flights boring. He closed his eyes, with the sound of Charles Mingus seeping into his earbuds.

He awoke nearly 4 hours later, having landed in Newark. He stretched and yawned before getting up and heading for the terminal.

Naturally, fans spotted him, and took selfies with him as well as asking him for autographs. He obliged, though it took forever for him to leave the terminal.

When he finally made it out the terminal, he hailed down a taxi cab and ordered the driver to head to the NJPAC venue.

Mark had been to Newark on a few occasions. While it wasn't a breath taking city like New York or Los Angeles, the city still had character. It had a rich history of the arts like Claudine said in the article, and was once a thriving industrial city that never really recovered from the racial tensions and urban decline in the 60s.

Before Mark knew it, the taxi driver had pulled up to NJPAC. Mark paid and tipped the driver and got out.

There were hundreds of people were lined up near the doors of NJPAC, eagerly awaiting to get in. Mark tried to be discreet, but he would have had better success stopping a hurricane with his bare hands. Just like at the terminal, fans recognized him and flocked to him, hounding him. Mark heard of chorus of, 'You're my idol', 'I'm your biggest fan', and can I get your autograph?'

Mark didn't want to turn them down , but he didn't like the idea of the focus being on him. He was there like everybody else, wanting to see the concert. But Mark wasn't everybody else, he was the Undertaker, an internationally famous wrestler. He couldn't do the mundane things normal take for granted, like taking a walk in a park or going to the grocery store, those days of peace were long gone. Everywhere he went always ended in an autograph and/or photo session. It was a bit wearing, but it was what he signed up for.

By 6:30 the doors finally opened. Since Mark was larger than everyone, it was easy for him to navigate his way around the crowd. The security guards wanted to take photos with him. Anything to get him to his seat, Mark took the picture with him and went on his way.

He finally made his way inside the Prudential Hall, a near 3000 seat hall that were organized in a four horseshoe-shaped tiers with box and orchestra seatings. Mark had a seat in the mezzanine section. Others were settling in to their seats, excited murmurings and chitter chatter in general amongst them. Mark just sat silently, hoping nobody would bother him.

The show finally started around 7:00. A tall black woman with shortly cut hair made her way to the stage. Immediately, the crowd fell silent as the woman approached the microphone.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," said the woman, "I'm Gayle and I'll be the host for this evening's benefit concert. What a treat we have in store for you tonight, we've got some pretty big names performing tonight. We have Keith Jarrett performing, we have Bob deVos later on, Esteban de los Santos and his band, the legendary Claudine Peyroux, and last, but not least, Newark's own, Savion Glover!"

Mark noticed that the only name to get a bigger applause than Claudine Peyroux, was Savion Glover, though he _was_ the hometown celebrity.

"All tonight's proceeds will be donated to the New Jersey Hunger Project," said Gayle, "thank you and enjoy the show everyone."

First to play was Bob deVos. As he played Mark could tell that he'd been influenced by Wes Montgomery and that funky hard bop style of jazz. He was just magic on his Gibson, and his organ player was just phenomenal.

After deVos was Keith Jarrett, a pianist who Mark knew worked with legendary jazz drummer Art Blakely in his early career as well as Miles Davis. Mark had seen Jarrett play in the 80s and had been impressed by his absolute pitch. However, Jarrett was anal about any type of noise from the audience, and would stop playing if there was even a peep from the audience. Luckily, no one was making any noise this time around.

Then came Esteban de Los Santos and his band. Esteban started off with some spoken word poetry in English and Spanish while beating on the congas. Then he broke into his cover of Dizzy Gillespie's _Manteca._ Mark loved the rich Afro-Cuban flavor, and found himself unconsciously moving to the rhythm.

Finally, it was the moment Mark had been waiting for; Esteban introduced Claudine, who walked on stage to a round of applause. Almost immediately, she went into her song, _Cane River Blues._

 _She's still got it_ thought Mark amazed as she hit every high note without missing a beat. The Bayou Nightingale was living it up to her name. The box of old memories opened in Mark's mind, a strong wave of nostalgia washing over him like an ocean tide.

They closed the show off with Savion Glover. Mark was blown away by Glover's tap dancing prowess and found himself mesmerized. It was like watching a young Gregory Hines, who Mark was sure influenced his style.

After the show ended Mark walked to the Hilton Hotel near Penn Station where he checked into a room, but didn't go in right away. While on a trip to the toilet, he'd heard someone accidentally slip that Claudine and Esteban were staying there for the night, so he thought he'd at least try to catch Claudine there.

He sat in the lobby, waiting for Claudine to emerge. He even signed the occasional autograph and chatted briefly with a few fans. This kept on for an hour and some change.

Mark's stomach rumbling told him that he was hungry. He'd forgotten he hadn't ate since the afternoon. Last he remembered, they had a BBQ joint a few blocks away from the hotel. Mark flagged down a cab and headed there.

The place had a nice Southern bluesy feel to it, with its wooden floors and brick walls adorn with art portraits. There were only a few people in the place, which suited Mark just fine. He sat down and peered down at the menu, ordering a half rack of ribs and beer.

As he sat and waited for his food, listening to the music play, a heavy feeling weighed in on his stomach. He had to speak to Claudine, but what if the information he heard in the bathroom was farcical? What if she was on her way to New York already?

Mark was so into his thoughts, he almost ignored the woman entering the place. As he looked up at her, he saw with a violent jolt that it was Claudine Peyroux.

Although she was in her early 70s, Claudine had that timeless Louisiana Creole beauty. She carried herself with Southern belle grace in her tall and slim frame and golden brown skin tone. Her eyes, so much like her daughter's still had that dark, misty gaze.

She sat two tables away from Mark. Mark's heart was beating so hard and fast, it felt like it was going to break his ribcage. He wanted to approach her, but as a public figure, he knew all too well how annoying it was for a fan to disturb you while you're eating your meal. But then again, her food hadn't come yet.

 _Fuck it_ thought Mark as he got up, _might as well get it over with._

He walked over to Claudine's booth and cleared his throat. Claudine looked up from her menu and asked in that pleasant Louisiana drawl, "Can I help you, mister?"

"I apologize for disturbing you, Ms. Peyroux," said Mark, putting on his Southern gentleman act hard, "I just wanted to say you put on an amazing performance tonight and I enjoyed every moment of it. You've still got it."

"Well thank you," said Claudine, smiling showing off her pearly whites, "you don't have to call me Ms. Peyroux, Claudine is just fine."

"Well, Claudine, I've been one of your biggest fans as far as I can remember," said Mark. "I even met you in '84 in Memphis years ago on Beale Street."

"Really?" said Claudine, "I thought you seemed familiar. Like I've seen your eyes before. What's your name?"

"Mark Calaway," said Mark, extending his hand, "I don't mean to be so blunt, Claudine, but I was wondering if you still keep in contact with your daughter Ronnie."

Claudine looked at Mark as if seeing him clearly for the first time.

"You know my baby?" she asked in surprise. "You must know her personally. She hasn't been called 'Ronnie' in years."

"Really?" said Mark, surprised by this information. "What does she go by now?"

"She calls herself Devi Leondra now," said Claudine, "Her stage name you see, she's a musician and a documentary film maker now."

"What's the name of her band?" asked Mark.

"Thoughtless Musings," said Claudine. "She plays the guitar and sings. I always knew she'd get into music, it's in her blood. She was always a gifted child."

"She has a kid, doesn't she?" asked Mark, nearly holding his breath.

"Yeah, she does," said Claudine. "He's in college now. Boy, time sure does fly. I didn't find out about him until after he was born. You see, Veronica left the United States in the early 90s. I remember it clear as day. It was after New Years in '92. Me and Esteban came home to find a note in the kitchen saying that she was pregnant and had gone abroad, because she was afraid Esteban and I would disown her or make her get rid of the baby. We wouldn't have done neither. I mean, yes we would have been upset, but eventually, we would have accepted the situation for what it was.

"I would have never made her get an abortion," said Claudine, sadly, " my parents forced me to get one when I was 16. I would have told her so, but I didn't even know where she was. She sent me a letter though about 4 months after she'd run away, telling me she had a boy, though she wouldn't tell me where she was, because she was afraid I'd bring her back home. She sent me letters every month to let me know she was still alive, so that put me at ease."

"Did she ever say anything about the father?" asked Mark.

"No, she won't tell me," said Claudine, "anyway, why you asking so much questions about Veronica? Why you so interested?"

"Because," said Mark, looking Claudine straight in the eye, his voice strained with emotion. "I'm the one who fathered her child."

There was a long and uncomfortable silence between the two. Claudine scanned Mark's face for a sign of deception, but there was none.

"So you're the one who knocked up my daughter when she was only 17 years old." said Claudine in a low voice. "Where she meet you?"

"I'm a professional wrestler known as the Undertaker," said Mark, "I co-counseled Camp Vacamas during the summer of '91 when I met Ronnie. I...uh started a romance with her during that time. She never told anyone about it, because of my status. She felt she was helping me, but I would have given up everything to take care of her and the baby."

"You really loved her, didn't you?" asked Claudine.

Mark nodded, tears falling down his cheeks.

"I tell you, I was really angry at the man who got my daughter pregnant for a long time," said Claudine. "I thought he was some jerk who just got her pregnant and left her, and ruined her life. But now, I see you standing here, cryin', I see that her leaving affected you as much as it affected me and her father. I'm sorry you never got a chance to know your son."

"I'm sorry too," said Mark, "that's why I came here, Claudine, I want to get into my son's life again. I want to reconnect with Ronnie. Please help me."

"Well, Veronica resides here in Newark," said Claudine, "In Forest Hills. I'm going to visit her tomorrow, I'll bring you to her. Only, I won't tell her that you're coming."

The tight knot in Mark's chest unraveled. And he could breathe again.

"God, I can't thank you enough Claudine," said Mark. "I'll never forget this."

"Not a problem, dear," said Claudine, smiling once more, "now if you don't mind, I'd like to eat my food."

"Oh of course," said Mark, "Better eat mine too, before it gets cold."


	27. Chapter 27

Mark laid in his hotel bed, but he wasn't sleepy. The aspect of meeting Ronnie for the first time in 25 years thrilled him as much as it scared him. He was going to meet his actual firstborn child for the first time in his life.

So many thoughts were racing through his head. What was his son like? Who did he look like? What would Ronnie's reaction be when she saw Mark? Would she be thrilled or upset? Would she want to see him? Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough and it was driving Mark crazy.

Claudine had Mark meet Esteban back at the hotel where she explained the whole situation. Esteban then explained to Mark that he wasn't thrilled that Mark had slept with his teenage daughter when he was much older, but years had passed and that it was time to move on and accept it for what it was.

Mark glanced at his watch on the bedside table; It was two a.m. He seriously needed some sleep. He wished he had a joint. It had been years since he'd stopped smoking pot, he didn't know why he suddently craved it. Maybe it had to do something with the fact that he as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

The morning came before Mark knew it. He had only slept for 2 hours, but hell, at least he got some sleep. Claudine and Esteban were already in the lobby by the time he'd made his way down. They lead Mark to their rental car with Esteban taking the wheel. Mark noticed how they'd held hands as they were heading to their car. It was always lovely to see them still in love with each other after all these years.

As Esteban drove up Broad Street, Mark's tongue felt numb and his stomach felt fluttery. He was minutes away from showing up on Ronnie's door step. All he kept thinking about was her and his son.

Forest Hill was an affluent neighborhood in Newark's north ward that was located next to Branch Brook Park. It was easily one of Newark's more preserved neighborhoods compared to the rest of Newark, that was rotting in urban decay.

Esteban pulled up into the driveway of a white Colonial Revival style home. Mark noted the recently mown lawn and the well pruned flower garden of tulips and sweetbriars. He walked up the flagstone walkway along with Claudine and Esteban.

Claudine rung the doorbell once. Mark tried to fall back, but Claudine motioned for him to come closer. He waited with baited breath. The door finally opened and Ronnie emerged from behind it.

When Ronnie was seventeen, she had this exotic beauty about her. Now, at the age of 41, she had this elegant beauty about her. Gracefully tall, like her mother, her hair (which was graying at the roots and temple) was done in long neat dreadlocks that came down to the middle of her back, and her cheeks were hollow, which emphasized her good looks. Like Mark, she had turned into quite a canvas over the years, her arms adorn with tattoos, mostly Egyptian mythology themed. Her dark eyes still held that juvenescent twinkle.

"Mom, Daddy!" she exclaimed. "Great to see you guys, I just got back into town about an hour ago. Come on in."

"No, that's okay, honey." said Claudine, hugging her daughter, "your father and I are going out for breakfast up the street. I have someone you may want to talk to though. Recognize this fella?"

Mark moved closer toward the door. Ronnie's jaw dropped in recognition.

"Ronnie," said Mark at once, sounding constricted.

Ronnie closed her eyes and sighed.

"No one has called me that in years," she said. "Truth be told, it feels good to hear it again."

She met Mark's green gaze, just like she'd done so many times when they were lovers. Suddenly, Mark's old supressed feelings came to the surface. It was apparent he wasn't over her, no matter how many times he told himself otherwise throughout the years.

"We should leave you two to talk," said Esteban, "We'll be back later."

As Claudine and Esteban got back into the car, Ronnie invited Mark inside. She told him to take his shoes off before they got into the main room.

The house was large and spacious with the living room's interior paint matching Ronnie's personality; Bright and lively, painted teal with a matching carpet and complete sofa. Her walls were adorn with Modernist art and numerous plaques she had been awarded throughout the years. On the marble stone fireplace were Catal Huyuk pottery, which Mark was sure cost an arm and leg. The place definitely had character.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" asked Ronnie, leading Mark to the kitchen.

"Coffee's fine," said Mark, sitting on a stool.

"Do you still take it sweet with cream?" asked Ronnie, grinning coyly.

"Yes, I do," said Mark, his voice going down an octave, "just like you."

Ronnie blushed furiously, and Mark got a glimpse of the 17 year-old girl she had once been in her features. She put coffee beans in the coffee machine and got out two coffee mugs, setting them on the counter top.

"So I guess you're wondering what I'm doing here," said Mark, as Ronnie sat across from him.

Ronnie shook her head.

"I know why you're here," she said quietly, "I've got years worth of explaining to do. Why don't I let you have your coffee first, and I'll tell you everything?"

Mark nodded.

After she made the coffee for Mark, Ronnie took a deep breath and said, "Rewind to '91. After I last saw you, I took out all my savings and flew out to Paris."

Mark could understand why Paris would hold so much signifigance for Ronnie; a city rich in culture, history, and the arts. Furthermore, Jim Morrison's gravesite was there.

"After a month of living in a motel, I found a boarding house ran by this former New Wave film maker, Frédérique Coutard. I got a room there and bonded with Frédérique almost immediately. She taught me to speak French, and had me study her films with her. Because of her and her connections, I got a recommendation to La Fémis film school. My experience was really illuminating, classmates took part in each others projects, they taught us the essentials of film making, it was amazing. Frédérique or someone from the boarding house would offer to watch the baby for me while I attended school.

"I graduated in '96 with honors. It was time for me to move on from France, I'd had my fill of it. I moved to Italy, where I spent most of my days filming the landscape, painting, reading, and writing like crazy. I'd taught myself to speak Italian while I worked at the Angelica Library. I even published a book of my poems while I was there.

"I came back to the United States in the fall of '98. Europe was nice, but admittingly, I missed my family. They welcomed me back with open arms, and they quickly bonded with their grandchild. Around that time, I'd decided that I'd wanted to form a band, because I'd had a lot of songs I'd been writing over the course of three years, and started looking for people to join the band. It was an exhausting search, but in the end, I found one hell of a drummer, an amazing saxophonist, and a phenomenal keyboardist. It was a bit rocky at first with us trying to find the right groove for the first few months, but we improved dramatically afterwards. Because I cited spoken word poetry over the music, we decided to call the band Thoughtless Musings.

"Using my parents' connections I got us a gig at this venue called The Bitter End. They'd held some successful acts throughout the years, and I figured we'd start our legacy there. We were booed offstage on our first night, and one critic accused us of trying to be too much like the Doors, which wasn't my intention at all. I was disheartened, but I used that to improve our sound."

Ronnie paused to drink her coffee. Mark took the opportunity to drink his as well. French Roast.

"We got another shot a month later," said Ronnie, "and this time we were better received. We became regulars after that, performing every night. We appealed to the the younger audience because our style was uniquely organic compared to some of the new acts they'd been listening to and we also appealed to the older audience because of the taste of nostalgia we presented to them.

"About six months this independent record executive met with us and offered us a nice deal. After consulting a lawyer, we signed the contracts and started recording for our first album. It was released a year later and sold well. We went on tour to promote the album, and one of our stops was Johannesburg, South Africa. I was watching these children playing soccer in the middle of the street barefoot and they looked malnourished. I don't know why, but I got out my camera and started filming them. Pivotal moment in my life, where I felt I should film things no one was really addressing.

After 8 months of touring, and working on the next album, I flew back to Africa where I created vignettes of life in the villages and the conditions they had to endure, you know not having any clean water or not enough food. I submitted the film, got it produced and set up funding there to get them food, drink, and toiletries. Every since then, I've been making music and documentaries, with the subject ranging from violence against women, to urban decay. Not just America, other countries as well. I've won awards, but I've won some enemies too, but that only spurs me on. "

"Some journey you've had, darlin'," said Mark, "always knew you'd go on to do great things."

Ronnie gave a small smile.

"How come you never told me you were back in the States when you came back?" Mark asked, "never let me see my son?"

Ronnie sighed sadly.

"I'm so sorry, Mark," she said, "but I was so afraid that you hated me after I left you so many years ago. I was afraid you didn't want anything to do with me anymore. I never forgot about you, though, you were always on my mind. Truth be told, I never got over my feelings for you. You see, I've never dated again. I knew no man would ever love me the way you loved me, no matter who I dated, they wouldn't compare to you."

She reached into her t-shirt and pulled out something. To Mark's astonishment, it was the Solar system locket that he'd gotten for her 25 years ago.

"After all this time?" he said.

"Always," said Ronnie, a single tear falling down her cheek.

Mark stood up and hugged her tight, never wanting to let her go. Everything he wanted to say to her, how he felt about her, he put into the hug. Getting the message, Ronnie ran her fingers through his hair, just like she used to when she was a teenager.

"I love you, Mark," said Ronnie, "Could you ever forgive me?"

"Of course, chili pepper," said Mark, "I'll forgive you completely if you do me a favor."

"Name it, big guy," said Ronnie.

"Let me see my son,"

Ronnie nodded and beckoned him upstairs. She came to a third door on the left and knocked. A young man's voice said, "Yes?"

"Mahdi, it's me, sweetie," said Ronnie, "I have someone who wants to meet you."

Mark heard footsteps approaching. A split second the later, the door opened and Mark's son appeared before him.

He was a muscular six foot three with his auburn hair cut in a curly flat top. He had his mother's features and skin tone, but his eyes were the exact color as Mark's.

"Mark," said Ronnie slowly, "meet Mahdi Hendrix Peyroux, your son."

Mahdi's eyes widened, having just registered what his mother just said.

"Son?" he said quietly, "you mean, he's... _my father?"_

"Yes," said Ronnie, "Why don't you come downstairs with us? It's about time I explained everything to you."


	28. Chapter 28

It was a bit awkward, but with the help of Mark, Ronnie told Mahdi the story of how she and Mark met, became romantically involved and ended up with his conception. If Mark had expected Mahdi to be angry at him and Ronnie, he was disappointed. Mahdi was ecstatic to learn that the Undertaker was his father, and told Mark he wanted to get to know him better before he headed back to college, as he never really had a male paternal figure in his life besides his grandfather.

He was overwhelmed with joy when he found out Mark had another son as well as three young daughters. He wanted to know when he could meet all of them and Mark told him anytime he wanted, to which Mahdi said soon, maybe that week if possible, to which Mark obliged. Mark told Ronnie that if she wanted to come too, she was more than welcome. At first Ronnie was hesitant, as she was afraid of how she would be received by Mark's children, but with a little convincing from Mark, she relented and agreed to go to Texas with him.

As Mark made plans for Ronnie and Mahdi to fly out to Texas, he got to know his first born son better; He discovered that Mahdi was attending Seton Hall University and going for his M.B.A. in sports management. He also was an amateur boxer who had been a three time Golden Glove, which deeply impressed Mark, who was an avid boxing fan. Though into sports, Mahdi was into arts and was a jazz aficionado like his parents. He showed Mark some of the comics he drew in his free time and it was evident that he'd inherited Ronnie's talent as an artist.

Mahdi and Ronnie flew to Texas with Mark, where Mark's family threw a big picnic. Mahdi was warmly greeted by his half siblings, especially Gunner, who was thrilled at having the brother he'd always wanted. The girls absolutely adored him and wanted to play with his soft curly hair, which Mahdi let them do.

Ronnie was visibly apprehensive at being there, and once again, Mark saw the shy 17-year old girl emerging. But she needn't be; It was Shawn and Mark who introduced Ronnie to Mark's family, whom she was well received by. She amazed to learn that a few of Mark's nephews and nieces were fans of Thoughtless Musings and her documentaries. She relaxed infinitely after that, chatting with everyone and telling Shawn it was good to see him again after all of these years.

After getting their fill of Mahdi, Mark's children jumped to Ronnie. They asked her loads of questions, to which Ronnie answered all of them. The girls were thrilled when they discovered at Ronnie liked to paint and asked if she could paint with most tender moment, was when Mark's little one, Kaia asked Ronnie, "Are you Daddy's new friend? I hope you make him really happy, because he's been feeling sad since Mommy went to Heaven."

Mark saw Ronnie's eyes well up with emotion and assure Kaia that she promised to make Mark as happy as she could make him.

When the picnic was over, Gunner drove Mahdi to the mall to bond more, and Mark drove Ronnie and the girls, who had fallen asleep in the car home. After putting them to bed, Mark went back to the living room where Ronnie stood, looking at the the numerous belts and awards Mark had won over the years. Mark cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I can't say it enough," said Mark, "It's great to see you again, I'm so glad you're here."

"Thank you," said Ronnie, smiling, reducing Mark's innards to puddle. "You have a wonderful family, I'm glad to have met them. I've haven't seen Mahdi's face light up like that in a long time."

"I'm glad they've taken a shine to him, he really seems like a great kid." said Mark, "you've done a wonderful job, Ronnie."

"Thank you," said Ronnie, "do you still write poetry, Mark?"

Mark shook his head ruefully.

"I haven't in a long time," he said, "to be honest, I stopped writing or drawing the day you left."

Ronnie looked taken aback, but it was gone as quick as a flash.

"I'm sorry Mark," she said. "If I'd had known the impact my leaving had on you twenty something years ago, I'd have never left. I was young, scared, and stupid. I can never be sorry enough."

"You shouldn't be sorry, darlin'," said Mark, "you did what you had to do, ain't no use feelin' bad. But I tell you how you could make it up to me."

"Yeah?" said Ronnie, "how?"

Mark reached into his shirt pocket and got out a small black box. Ronnie eyes widened, her heart pounding fast like congas.

"I let you get away once," said Mark, "I'm not going to let you get away again."

He got down to one knee, opening the box, revealing a large emerald cut diamond ring.

"Veronica Peyroux," he drawled, "will you marry me?"

Ronnie gasped, overcome with emotion. She pulled herself together and said, "Yes, Mark, I will."

Mark got up and lifted Ronnie high in the air, so happy that she accepted. She and him embraced each other in an ardent kiss, neither party wanting to let go.

"Now that we've got that out the way," said Mark, "I'd like you do one more thing for me,"

"What's that big boy?" said Ronnie, still reeling from the kiss.

"For old time's sake," said Mark, "light a joint and we'll listen to some Coltrane. My Favorite Things."

"I'm game," said Ronnie, "show me the way."

 _A year later..._

"It's time, 'ol Buddy," said Shawn to Mark. He was wearing a white and light blue double breasted Tuxedo and had his thinning hair tied into a ponytail. "Don't want the wedding to turn into a funeral when they kill the best man for not getting the groom on time."

Mark laughed as he straightened out his own tuxedo and followed Mark to the rental car. They were driving to Branch Brook Park.

"Things have come full circle, huh?" said Shawn, as he drove up Mount Prospect Avenue.

"Most definitely," said Mark, "I can't wait to lay my eyes on her and hear her say I do."

"Better hope she doesn't lay her eyes on you and turn into stone," said Shawn, "or else, you'll be making love to a statue for the rest of your life."

Mark laughed and rolled his eyes at the same time. Only Shawn would insult someone on their wedding day.

"Maybe I should look at you and turn you to stone," said Mark, "then you'd finally be stiff."

Shawn pulled up in front of Sacred Heart's Cathedral, a 365 foot church with a French Gothic Revival style architecture, one of the 5th largest churches in North America. Mark got out of the car, feeling nervous. Though he had been previously married three times, he could never get over the getting married butterflies. And he wasn't getting married just to anybody, he was getting married to Ronnie, who had a whole lot of magic about her. He was marrying his long lost soul mate.

Mark's groomsmen (Bradshaw, Ron, Charles, Mark Henry, Rikishi, Shane, and Mark's two sons) were there when he entered the church, all decked in white and light blue tuxedos. Mahdi and Gunner beamed when they saw their father.

"You look great, Dad," said Mahdi, who'd cut his in a butch crewcut, and was now sporting a beard.

"The best," Gunner agreed.

"Thanks, sons," said Mark, clapping both of their shoulders.

"It's 12:50," said Shawn glancing at his watch, "everyone should be pulling up by now, we should be getting ready, I'll come back for your big guy.

He clapped Mark on the shoulder and headed out with the other groomsmen.

After a year of planning and what not, Mark and Ronnie decided to get married in her birthplace and hometown of Newark. Mark knew that getting married in her hometown meant a lot to Ronnie, so he did not object. This was her wedding day and he wanted to make sure she was beyond happy.

Mark took the opportunity to appreciate the moment of solitude he had. He bent down to one knee and bowed his head.

"Lord," he said out loud, "thank you for the good life you've blessed me with. Thank you for my wonderful children, thank you for my friends. I've never really asked you for much, but I'm asking just this one thing; Please let everything be perfect today. That's all I ask. Amen."

He raised back up on his knees and sat in a chair, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

A half an hour later, Shawn came and got Mark. He lead Mark to the altar where the priest, a tall gray haired man with a hook nose and square rimmed glasses, stood. Ronnie's band members were playing instrumental music as people continued to pour in. When everyone was settled in, the ceremony began.

Mark beamed as his three daughters, who were the flower girls , walked down the aisle, scattering petals as they went. Then came Shane's son, Roger, the ring bearer. Then came the groomsmen and Maids of honor, hand in hand. Everyone took their positions. Any moment now.

Ronnie made her entrance with Esteban holding her arm. She was flawless from head to toe, as Esteban smiled, proudly. Every had stood, looking on as Ronnie made her way to Mark, who couldn't peel his eyes away from her. He smiled at her, mouthing 'you look wonderful'. She smiled and mouthed 'so do you' back to him.

After everyone was seated, the priest cleared his throat and began in a clear, deep voice.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Mark William Calaway and Veronica Michelle Peyroux in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, that is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly but reverently and soberly. Into this estate these two persons present come now to be joined. If any one can show just why they may not be lawfully joined, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

Nobody said a word. Claudine wept tears of joy in the front pew along with Ronnie's aunts.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" asked the priest.

"My wife and I do," said Esteban, quietly, but loud enough that the priest heard him. A single tear slid down his cheek as he gave his only daughter.

Mark, do you take Veronica to be your wedded wife, to love her, to comfort her, honor and keep her, forsaking all others, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," said Mark at once, his green eyes boring into Ronnie's deep misty brown ones.

"Veronica, do you take Mark to be your wedded husband, to love him, to comfort him, honor and keep him, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," said Ronnie instantly, smiling.

"The rings," said the Minister. On cue, Roger, the ring bearer presented the rings to Mark and Ronnie.

"Both the bride and groom now will exchange wedding vows, in which they have written themselves in the form of a poem. Veronica?"

Ronnie cleared her throat and recited her poem.

 _"Today I get the honor of being_

 _embraced as your wife_

 _I promise to honor that title_

 _for the rest of my life_

 _I won't always be perfect, but_

 _know my intentions are well_

 _meaning_

 _No more I or you, it's we now_

 _our hearts forever convening_

 _Mark, I will alway accept you as_

 _my one and only_

 _Never again will I feel sad, friendless,_

 _or lonely_

 _May our bond forever be sealed beyond_

 _the enchantment of this ring_

 _For this queen has finally come back to_

 _to claim her King."_

Then Mark recited his poem, the first poem he'd written in years. He hoped it didn't sound too shabby.

 _"With this ring, I promise to forever_

 _treat you with respect_

 _Like a King is supposed to, to honor_

 _and protect_

 _I'll be the Superman to your_

 _Lois Lane_

 _Carry the umbrella with you through_

 _torrential rains_

 _As long as I have you, I don't need_

 _anything else_

 _No material things or any kind of_

 _wealth_

 _Because marrying you makes me_

 _more than just blessed_

 _I promise to love you with my_

 _last dying breath."_

"By the power invested in me and by the state of New Jersey, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Mark Calaway! You may now kiss the bride.

Ronnie and Mark embraced in a deep kiss. And for once, it was in front of everyone, they no longer had to hide their forbidden love anymore.

As Mark and Ronnie walked down the aisle, hand in hand, Claudine sang Etta James' 'At Last'. Friends and family alike said congratulations to them as they passed by. As they were climbing in the limosine on the way to the reception, Mark said to Ronnie, "There's no turning back now chili pepper, you're mine forever."

"And you mine," said Ronnie, "I wouldn't have it any other way, baby."

They kissed once more.

"I love you Mark," said Ronnie.

"Love you too, darlin'," Mark drawled.

The sun was shining fulgently in the cloudless blue sky. Mark was married to the woman of his dreams, and Ronnie was married to the man of her dreams. Neither would never experience loneliness again. All was right in the world at that golden moment.

 **The End**


End file.
